#The Dream of Macsen Wledig

[gingersnaptaff]

Helo, helo, helo! Getting this marriage law edition out quickly as I am ON THE BEVS TONIGHT (wine. I've had a horrid day ffrindiau. I need this.)

So! Last time we spoke about Amobyr and Cowyll, this time it's Gwaddol and Agweddi!

So, Gwaddol is relatively simple but it is also referred to as Agweddi even though they are VERY different. Gwaddol is the right for a daughter to have her share of her father's movables (so cutlery, livestock, plates, furniture, stuff like that.) by dowry provision.

The word itself translates to 'gift, distribution, division,' which neatly tells you exactly what that particular law was about. It's VERY rare in law texts of the time because it was just usually lumped in with 'Agweddi.' According to certain texts (Peniarth MS. 28) a man who failed to rebut a charge of rape on a woman who was walking alone was 'required to pay her gwaddol,' which suggests that the gwaddol in that case was paid as a mark of a woman's chastity. (However, I would argue this particular case is much more likely to be a case of the law being classed under Cowyll rather than Gwaddol but I am not an academic.)

Next, Agweddi!

This one is slightly more fun! Agweddi is perhaps the most complicated law of the bunch and - as discussed - is somewhat of an umbrella term for other laws.

Now, Agweddi is, delightedly, a dowry payable to a wife whether she was a virgin or not by a husband when the marriage was consummated with sureties being given for its payment before marriage. Always good to get some assurances. You'd also get it for rape.

The agweddi was mentioned in The Mabinogion. The Dream of Macsen Wledig mentions it saying, 'Early the next day the maiden [Elen] claimed her maiden fee since he had found her to be a virgin.' Way to go, Macsen. As well as this, it's also found in Culhwch and Olwen: 'They [Culhwch, Bedwyr, Cai, etc.] said, "Ysbadden Pencawr, give us your daughter in exchange for her dowry and her maiden-fee to you and her two kinswomen."'

So, it's a BIG FUCKIN DEAL. It's perhaps what I would classify as being the 'main law' or your big-hitter. Certainly, that one and the Cowyll are, arguably, the most important. Agweddi was fixed in terms of how much each class had to pay, like the Amobyr and the Cowyll, and there may have been a marked difference between if your family was giving you away (like in 'The Dream of Macsen Wledig' and 'Culhwch and Olwen') or if you did a Gwenllian ferch Gruffudd ap Cynan and eloped with your bae. How much by isn't clear. It's not that it was seen as lesser but it might have been more uncouth, as it were, to be eloping. For more light on the matter, the Dimetian Code (South Wales) says that the woman who eloped WAS allowed the same amount as a lady was given away l, but in others, it says that it WAS fixed so I think it has more to do with status.

Now, also, if you were found to be in contempt of agweddi (I.e. you'd fuckin BANGED BEFORE MARRIAGE) you'd have a (slightly hilarious) punishment. Your husband would call together all the marriage guests, and the candles would be lit and the woman had to take an oath that she was pure.

Now, whether she was seen to be chaste depended partly on her age. If she was twelve (which was the age a girl became a woman under Welsh law) she was automatically seen as chaste and the marriage was coolie beans. If she was mature however, then she had to be like 'I'm a virgin dw' to five people which included her mum, dad, brothers, sisters, and grandparents as well as other village members.

But if she denied that she was pure then she had all her clothes cut to her hips and was made to hold the welll-greased tail of a steer which was thrust into the hole of a house door. You might be asking 'Well, Sarah what the fuck were the Welsh thinking?' And, in truth, my friend, I cannot say. Please, don't ask me why this was an appropriate punishment. I haven't a fuckin clue because it is essentially a bucking bronco in execution.

Two men then prodded the steer and the woman had to attempt to hold onto the animal. If she was successful in doing so then the steer was part of her Agweddi. If she wasn't then she had to be content with the grease on her hands.

Also, cohabitation with a man still entitled you to Agweddi as it was seen as being the equivalent to the first three days of marriage. So, y'know, you've just tracked yourself to a marriage. The woman cohabiting had to claim her Agweddi within the first seven days of marriage or, if not, then she had to wait a year and a day from when she and her beau began cohabiting together.

Now, obviously this is just a short thing and I apologise if it's bad. I want you to know that that we have like three fuckin law books about this stuff because, even though they are know as 'The Laws of Hywel Dda' other rules expanded and adapted them for their own needs.

Seriously, I'm not joking when I say this but the Codes have different things about how much a cat was worth. A CAT. There's an excellent video by Cambrian Chronicles about it that I shall link for u.

Okay, hwyl fawr!!! Off to DRINK cider. Thinking about doing a short yelly thing about Welsh Poetry* next before the final episode of Marriage Laws drops next Sunday.

*it's so I can yap about Hywel ab Owain Gwynedd again. It's my enrichment.

Quotes from the Mabinogion are from the 2007 translated by Sioned Davies.

[mgakwentongbayan]

The Dream of Macsen Wledig

“The Dream of Macsen Wledig” is a delightful tale from “The Mabinogion,” the collection of Welsh medieval legends. The story centers around the Emperor Macsen Wledig and his mystical dream that leads him on a journey to find a beautiful maiden. Here’s an abridged version of the story: Macsen Wledig was a powerful and renowned emperor ruling over a vast empire that spanned distant lands. One…

[godeaterazathoth]

OUTDATED

More Hedd Wyn Lore time yay

Background

Hedd Wyn belongs to an ethnic group that resides in the mountains called Albion they used to be more prolific but due to persecution only one group remains, the Llewelyn clan, who are said to be dissidents of a great folk hero who guided the remaining people to the safety of the mountains. The land they call home is an old fort they converted into a village they call it Meirionnydd, but in the surrounding countries call it stormvail. The people mostly raise mountain live stock and hunt to survive. Albions are known for their black smithing, their swords never snap or even chip, they are also known for their tapestry’s, however they are mostly known for their work as mercenaries. The men are organised under the clan head and travel for work in war. The woman remain in the village doing most of the home keeping. People in Albion follow a different denomination of the church than most following a more Unitarian world view.

Family

Hedd Wyn’s father was a man named Dic Siôn Dafydd a man hated by Albion for turning his back on the people and culture for his own material wealth, Hedd Wyn’s mother is a woman named Rowena a madwoman, Dafydd’s proposal to Rowena was rejected by her family but he convinced her to run away with him to live in luxury, Rowena’s uncle sent a party to find them but they only found Rowena after a year living in a brothel with the infant Hedd Wyn after Dafydd ditched her when he found out she was pregnant. Upon returning to Albion Rowena was remarried to a man named Macsen Wledig, who already had one daughter named Elen. Rowena had gone mad with grief by this point blaming Hedd Wyn for Dafydd leaving her due to Hedd Wyn being born both male and female, Rowena believed her to be a demon and abused and neglected her never even giving her a name, Macsen hardly stopped this he and many other looked down on Hedd Wyn due to who her father was. Rowena eventually calmed down when she had a child with Macsen another daughter named Rhiannon.

Rowena’s uncle was the clan’s leader Gwrtheyrn, related through his sister Mirika. All of Gwrtheyrn’s sons died in battle and of Mirika’s children only Rowena survived until adulthood. Mirika was an important religious leader in the Albion Church and had as much power as her brother even in her old age.

Childhood

Upon Hedd Wyn’s birth Mirika had a vision of Albion being saved by a white dragon with bright eyes that pierced dark clouds, she was confused by this dream, the dragon could not have been her brother because his symbol was a silver boar, her questions went unanswered until the birth of Rhiannon where she met the unnamed child for the first time (when Hedd Wyn was 5), before this Hedd Wyn was raised like a servant and treated like an animal sleeping with the animals in the barn being fed leftovers and being ignored, however she never complained or showed any anger to her mother or even her step sister who mocked her for her body, Hedd Wyn’s eyes always stayed bright.

Upon seeing Hedd Wyn’s white hair and bright eyes Mirika knew she was the white dragon, she adopted Hedd Wyn as her own giving her her name, a symbol of her prophecy. Many were sceptical that the child of a traitor could bring any good but believed in Mirika’s judgment. Now living with Mirika Hedd Wyn caught the eye of her gate uncle Gwrtheyrn, who began teaching her sword play and letting her sit in on his councils, he began treating her as is she were is own personally teaching her swordsmanship. She received a vast education, politics, economics, literature recourse management, music, weaving hunting, anything Mirika thought would be useful. When Hedd wyn was 11 she contracted Tuberculosis. She decided not to tell anyone so Mirika wouldn’t worry she learned how to treat it by herself. Around here she found a young boy being raised by bandits Mirika decides to take him in as Hedd Wyn’s shadow naming him Blaidd.

Before the story

When Hedd Wyn was 15 Mirika passed away, Hedd Wyn was the one who to perform the funeral rights. After Gwrtheyrn adopted her and gave her his family name Llewelyn, At this point the people fully accepted Hedd Wyn, however Macsen and his supporters didn’t accept her, (Macsen was the only other person who could inherit from Gwrtheyrn) so to prove herself to them, she left Albion to kill Dafydd, taking Blaidd with her.

Prologue

Hedd Wyn and Tori were passing through on the day of the festival while exploring she saw a drunk man assaulting a woman and child she made her way through the crowd when Leon got involved then Chevalier got involved but before anyone could do anything Hedd Wyn punched the guy across the town square for putting a woman and child in Danger, this is what caught a certain minister’s attention.

Bonus!!!!

Hedd Wyn’s opinion on all the boys

Chevalier: ever since she saw him kill those assassins she’s been spellbound, Mirika told her she should pick a man that can dice up another man well, she sees him as the moon, a bright light in the dark, she points out that he is very human due to having ambition. She thinks he’s cute when he’s sleeping in the morning admires his conviction, she gave him an endearing nickname ‘Lia’.

Leon: Hedd Wyn’s casual with everyone even more so when it comes to Leon, in some ways he reminds her of her own brother Bran, as they are similar in temperament.

Luke: most of the relationship is one sided due to her reminding him of his sister, they both faced neglect from their mothers, Hedd Wyn was never close with her sisters, but she likes his chill vibes.

Yves: to Hedd Wyn he’s a girl and so she treats him like a girl, even calling him princess, to Hedd Wyn it’s the role you take that determines if your male or female, this came from the fact she was raised like a boy. Also since she treats him like she would a girl, she is unusually respectful towards him.

Licht: she likes that he doesn’t talk too much but she also thinks he doesn’t talk enough, she always wants to know what he’s thinking, in her culture twins are a good sign because they symbolise a woman’s fertility .

Rio: she tried to keep her distance and have the boss deal with him but he kept pushing she always denies his advances but she tolerates him.

Nokto: she finds his flirtation annoying, it’s not that she has an issue with sleeping around but rather that he is always alone despite it, also for her it’s normal for women to have multiple partners but men usually only have one, so she thinks he’s disloyal.

Jin: she hates his flirting, especially when he comments on her small height or flat chest or her more masculine features, she will hit him if he goes too far, she thinks he’s too old to be acting like a child.

Kieth: there’s the obvious caution when dealing with him not only because of the secret but also due to the fact she can sense his alter, she’s always somewhat on edge when he’s around always gauging him for small changes in personality.

Gilbert: he sets off all her warnings, every instinct in her body tells her to run (she can sense the yandere) when forced to be near him her sword is always close and she checks all her exits

Sariel: she hates lessons and his way of her doing her job, she’d rather watch from the shadows than parade around as someone she isn’t and attract unwanted attention.

Clavis: she called him ugly to his face

Silvio: he causes nothing but trouble so she avoids him like the plague, she thinks he has too much jewellery on, an obnoxious amount of jewellery.

Trivia

Blood type O

She is 16-18 years old

The stars in her eyes are a symbolic representation of her drive, not the actual shape of her eyes.

Her birthday is on January 1st.

Hedd Wyn still suffers from Tuberculosis, she occasionally has coughing fits and once a year she gets bedridden, Blaidd is the only other person who knows.

She still lives in a barn with her families animals, she actually enjoys being there.

Her golden earring was something she bought on campaign, Blaidd has the other one

She doesn’t like being touched much she’ll only let certain people touch her

Her clothes are practical and mostly handmade, she tans her own leather weaves or buys the best fabric and has multiple coverings for different weather.

She is trained in smithing and makes her own weapons

Her sword was a gift from Gwrtheyrn, it’s an heirloom

The ribbons on her are cultural, young girls give them to warriors going to war as a good luck charm, Hedd Wyn is very.

She doesn’t like to waste food and will eat anything given to her, even Clavis’s ‘cooking’

When she was 4 she got ran over with a horse, she was fine

She enjoys hunting

Her handwriting is like a child’s, you can tell a lot of effort was put into making it legible, so it’s bigger than needed and all capitalised, it takes her twice as long to write anything

When she’s drunk her cute side comes out, she falls in and out of consciousness and blurts out all her secrets.

She invited her own sword style, it has a special move called the water fell dance, it can cut an enemy to peace’s before they even notice

She doesn’t have any food she won’t eat but she isn’t a fan of sweet things

She loves spicy food

She prepares her own food from hunting it to preserving the leftovers

She doesn’t sleep in her bed, she’ll sleep on the sofa, floor even on the roof, back home she slept on a pile of hay

[roadswim-collective]

Three Times He Lied To Me  Lie 1.

I was twenty three when I met him. I was back at home, living with my mother, after three years in halls of residence. Here's a list of the places you'd be most likely to see me during the year I was twenty three:

on a train

in a library

at a railway station

in a corridor

at my tutor's office

in my bedroom.

I had literally no social life, unless you count going to the shop for tobacco. My best friend was my I, Claudius box set. On Friday nights when my mother was out with the girls from darts, I'd drink Prosecco in the bath. Sometimes I'd do that on Saturday nights too.

I did go other places sometimes. If the weather was nice you might see me in a castle. Caerphilly was my favourite. Or I might be at a Roman site like Caerleon. And now and again you might see me out of breath at the top of a hill somewhere looking at the remains of an Iron Age fort. I was always alone on these excursions. I'd end the day pretty much as I'd started it, lying in my bed, in my old bedroom, probably watching Gladiator.

I was halfway through a master's in history with archaeology, a two-year course, and I was completely broke. Amazingly I'd got a First in my degree, and my tutor recommended me for post-grad. It was all a bit overwhelming. I was the first in my family to go to uni, you see. Well, my father was accepted at some art college back in the day but he didn't finish the course, he dropped out. Other than that, though, I was the first to go on to higher education. It was quite a big deal at the time. Nerve-wracking. I more or less expected to crash and burn.

Everyone else seemed so confident, so talky, and loud. So English, I was about to say. But that's not fair. I just hadn't met many people like that back then, middle class people. A lot of them hardly bothered going to lectures and they were always incredibly insulting about the tutors. They were always on the piss too. Now me, for the first two years I just kept my head down and my mouth shut. I worked as hard as I possibly could, hoping to keep up. I read literally everything. When a lecturer praised my work, I'd carry that around with me for days like a little glow of fire to ward off the doubts.

Not that I was some kind of nun. My main indulgences were:

thin little roll ups in liquorice papers smoked on the library steps, about one every half hour

a bottle of vodka in my bottom drawer for winding down at the end of a long essay

the occasional lump of cheap hash to see me through the holidays

a boy from Norfolk with nice dark eyes, though that was more trouble than it was worth.

By the final year, though, I knew I was heading for at least a 2:1, possibly even a First. There didn't seem so many of the loud talky ones around by then. There were a lot of drop outs. On the one hand that made it hard, because the spotlight began to shine on me a bit more. I couldn't just hide in the back of the seminars anymore, I was invited to contribute. On the other hand, those little glows of praise from my lecturers had grown into a proper fire, burning day and night. And I started to see them as human, my tutors, not as untouchable gods or whatever but as people who were obsessed by the past, by trying to dig it up and see it as it was, just like me. It was hard to believe I'd made it to the end of the three years. And now they were encouraging me to take it further, to do an MA.

I mean, it was way beyond what I'd expected. That last year was just wonderful, I loved it.

The day I graduated, my mother cried and my brother puked. We were all in the union bar, toasting each other. I can drink my brother under the table, and I did that day. Uncle Lloyd was there too, wearing a blue suit that I won't forget too soon, putting away the cheap beer and chatting a bit too much to girls. My father hadn't turned up. He'd promised he would, but that's my father. I can't believe I really expected him to be there. Maybe I didn't, I can't quite remember now.

So anyway, yes. That was, nice, to be doing so well. And now I got to spend the next couple of years digging around in sub-Roman Britain, a time I'd been mildly obsessed with since I heard the stories of Saint David and Saint Dyfrig in RE at school. I always saw it as this mysterious realm full of saints and kings and warlords and clashing cosmologies, and all of it hidden in layers and layers of myth and dirt. It was like digging up a real life epic, it was kind of  a dream come true for me.

On the other hand, after three years as a student I was completely broke, massively in debt, and I hadn't made any friends. And now I was back at home, with my mother, in my old bedroom, commuting to Cardiff from Aberdare, an hour each way on the train, to do my studying. I was making a tiny bit of money working part-time in college libraries at different campuses all over the place, Merthyr, Treforest, all over. I read my Mary Beard books over lunch, and on station platforms in all weathers I listened to podcasts.

My mind was usually far off in the mist, tracing trade routes of lost empires, digging through dead cities, reading old epitaphs. I was starting to feel a bit sort of nothing about everything, or everything modern, everyday life, here and now. I'd even stopped watching reality TV. The only things I watched now were documentaries. Well, and Derren Brown, I loved his stuff.

Everyone I'd known, my uni friends, had all sort of evaporated. The same thing had happened when I left school, or whenever I changed jobs. It was happening again now. Helen and Julie, Rupinder, Jay, Alex and Steve, Danny, my sort of ex, they'd almost faded out, just a year after we all graduated and I promised to stay in touch. None of my friendships were ever strong enough to survive the transition, everyone just floated away. I couldn't say why.

I was happy enough though, don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my own company. To be honest, I couldn't really imagine looking round a historical site with someone else. Having to talk to them, listen to them, instead of just looking at the stuff. Or standing on an iron age site, a hill fort, looking down into the valley, no sound, only the wind whispering and the birds calling – and just because someone else is there you've got to ruin it all with small talk. I tried to see it in more positive terms but I failed to convince myself. I just couldn't imagine it. Very often, I paid for the audio guide tour, with the headphones.

Anyway, there was this librarian I was sort of obsessed with. His name was Will and he was twenty nine. He worked at the humanities library at Cardiff Uni. I did some shifts there, he was sort of my line manager, one of them anyway. He was slim and tall with thick hair and he talked a lot. The women all loved him. He was funny though not quite as funny as he thought. Well, they never are, are they? But he wore tight jeans and brown boots and they suited him, oh my god they suited him. His eyes were green and twinkly, his grin was cheeky. I didn't think he fancied me but I knew for sure that he knew I fancied him.

I sometimes got flustered when we were chatting in a corridor. I was full of pent-up lust. There were moments when literally all I wanted out of life was for Will to turn up at my door late one night and fuck me senseless. Preferably a Friday night, when my mother was out with the darts girls and I was all wet and alluring from my Prosecco bath.

Anyway it was no good, he had a girlfriend. Cerys. They lived together. No kids though. So there was always the chance they'd split up. I tried to gauge the likelihood. It seemed a pretty stormy relationship. He made lots of bad jokes about him and Cerys rowing all the time, her insane jealousy.

He turned up to work one day with his wrist in a splint. When we asked him about it, he said this: "A woman in a bar came up to ask where the toilets were, and the missus didn't like it so she broke my wrist, just as a friendly warning." It turned out later he was joking and he'd actually fallen over drunk. Everyone laughed. But the next day when we were getting cans from the machine Will confided to me that the reason he'd fallen was because Cerys pushed him over some bins on the way back from the pub. "We shouldn't drink together, me and her," he told me. "Only one of us should be drunk at a time. Or it goes bad."

So it all seemed quite volatile. Sometimes he looked miserable. There were phone calls from Cerys that sent him scuttling outside, scowling. He made lots of jokes about how unreasonable she was, how she flew into a rage, shouted and screamed. In dark moments I imagined that what he was leaving out from all these stories for the sake of decency was all the amazing, passionate, hot sex they were having when they weren't rowing. She probably shouted and screamed all the way through that too. Lucky bitch. I didn't have enough experience to make that assumption, really, but it crept up on me sometimes as a slightly depressing certainty.

All this drama seemed very distant from my own life. It was like watching I, Claudius, all that passion, the lust and the violence, Brian Blessed. And there was me, alone in my teenage bed at night, my hand wandering down, trying to visualise the exact lift and curvature of beautiful Will's tight bum. I was wondering if it was finally time I invested in a vibrator.

So then they did split up, Will and Cerys. It wasn't the first time but she'd gone back to Llanelli or Ammanford or wherever she was from, and apparently she'd never done that before. Will seemed pretty upset and he got a lot of sympathy at work, which he obviously enjoyed. I'd say the percentage male/female split at the humanities library was about 30/70 to the girls. Some of the men seemed a bit uncomfortable with this, with being out-numbered, but others blatantly loved being surrounded by women. Will was one of those.

He started going out for drinks after work. We'd all go, a big pack of us. Yes, me too. This sort of party gang developed. Friday nights mostly and usually around Cathays, in the Woodville or the Pen and Wig. There was boozing and there was bad behaviour. I got caught up in it a bit. I'm not really into that kind of thing, in general. I'm useless at small talk, it's just embarrassing, so I drink too much to compensate, and I talk a load of crap, wear myself out, and have to spend the next fortnight in bed. But it's funny how a change in just one colleague's relationship status can act as a catalyst on the pent up frustrations of the whole office.

And of course I always had to catch the last train back home. That was at ten to eleven so I was leaving early, baling out while the night was still young. They were all staying out, Will and everyone, they were going on somewhere else. And I'd be on the train, half-cut but not quite pissed, with all the sweaty bellowing valley boys, nodding-waking-dribbling all the way back to cold dark Aberdare.

There was nothing left for me at home really. The girls who'd stayed there were on their second or third kids. We had nothing in common now. All the boys were messing about with the same old things as before, cars and sports and booze, just with jowls now and already balding. Thinking about it, I don't suppose I had much in common with anyone in the first place.

So I started staying the night now and again with my new friend Abby who was doing a PhD and lived in Roath. Not every weekend, just if it was going to be a big night, someone's birthday or whatever excuse came up. I was quite good at drinking, still am, and I'd always be among the last standing. It was me who had to get Abby into a taxi and find her door key and let us in and, more than once, hold her hair back while she was sick. And when it came down to the last handful at the very end, Will was always there too. Will and me, Abby, Hannah, Chris, a few others. There until the bitter end. None of us had anything much to go home to really.

So one Friday night we ended up in this over-priced cocktail bar on City Road, six or seven of us I think, probably about 1am. Abby and I happened to be sitting opposite Will, the three of us leaning in close over a tiny glossy circle of table to be heard above the music. He was on great form that night, Will. He listened to the latest installment of Abby's catastrophic love life with great interest and had a lot to say about it all. He told Abby that none of it was her fault and she deserved much better. He said, "Look at me, after all this Cerys stuff – I'm bruised, sure, I'm bruised to holy fuck, but I'm not bleeding." I'd almost say he was cosying up her to her but I didn't get that feeling, it read more like a supportive friend thing. Also, I noticed that he was addressing quite a few of his comments on love and heartbreak and so on directly at me. As in, right into my eyes. So of course I began to feel ridiculously excited and kept insisting on more drinks all round.

When men try and chat you up, it's almost always boring, and forced, and makes you cringe. I mean, I suppose I'm partly to blame because I'm just no good at small talk. And chatting up is usually just a subset of small talk, really. You're not usually talking about anything in particular, there's nothing to cling on to, and it's all crappy, you're just wafting these threadbare festoons at each other in desperation. So I tend to just sort of clam up and that's the effect most blokes' efforts have on me, their intended target. Not Will. He was good.

Abby was talking to Hannah so now Will and I were just looking at each other over our tiny table. He grinned and beckoned me to lean in closer, so I did, and he said, "I'd like to try something out on you, if you don't mind." So I raised my eyebrows at him and said Um, okay..? To which Will did a mischievous little chuckle and told me it was a kind of personality test, and I said A test? O-kaaaay... "Don't be worried though", he said, "it's not serious, it's just a bit of buggering about, of no diagnostic value," so I said, Well that's a relief and he chuckled again.

And he was wearing this really nice aftershave and I could see the hairs on his chest poking over the top of his shirt. Plus I was half-cut. Plus it had been a bloody long while since I'd even been near a bloke. So you can imagine, can't you?

Will's idea turned out to be quite good. Basically, you've heard that thing – if you could have as your superpower either being able to fly or being able to make yourself invisible, which would you choose? Those crappy questions you get on Facebook that are meant to reveal some essential truth about your personality based on a seemingly throwaway choice you make. Well, Will said he hated it because it was an obvious fix, a swizz, the superpowers thing, because all the traits associated with flying were really good ones – success, confidence, flying high, reaching for the sky, freedom, the great beyond. And then you had invisibility, said Will, which was the choice of creeps. Think of the kinds of things being invisible would allow you, would invite you to do. It's nothing very noble, is it, Will said. It's sneaking around, it's hiding, not being upfront and honest. It's peeping toms, he said, it's sneaks and spies and saboteurs, it's eavesdroppers and shoplifters and pickpockets. Invisibility appeals to the voyeur, to the nosey parker and the perv. So it wasn't really much of a choice, he said, in fact it was a complete fix and he'd thought of his own, much better alternative.

I was laughing at all this, by the way, and reaching across to maul his arm from time to time. This was a good deal better than your average chat up, I was thinking, and even if it wasn't a chat up I was having fun with a silly man on a Friday night and and he was making me laugh so just go with it, just enjoy yourself for god's sake.

"Okay," says Will, "here's the thing. Some old fella down the road from you, mad professor type, he's built a time machine. It's in his garden shed and he's invited you to have a go."

"So this old man is trying to get me to go into his garden shed with him?" I say. "I don't think I believe he's got a time machine in there, to be honest. I think he might have other reasons."

"Fair point," says Will. "Make it your grandfather then. Someone you trust."

"How about my grandmother?"

Will says, "What's the matter, you don't trust your grandfather?"

"Very funny," I say. "Well, yes I did trust my grandfather and he did make things in his shed, but he's not alive now so..."

"Oh shit. Sorry," he says. "I haven't got any grandparents left, as of last month. Ah well, life's a shit, your grandmother it is then. Okay, so you go into the shed, there's the time machine, and your lovely old Nana is inviting you to be the first to have a go on it."

"First?"

"Yup. First ever trip, the maiden voyage. And she wants it to be you, her favourite grand-daughter."

"Her only grand-daughter, " I tell him. "So, I'm like a sort of guinea pig? My Nan wants me as a guinea pig?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," Will says. "But in a very loving way."

I did one of my stupid big honking snorting laughs all over him at this point. By now, fed up with shouting over the music, Will had come round the table and we were pretty much squeezed together. He seemed to enjoy it, this muffled explosion of me. We were laughing at my laugh. I called it my walrus call, he said it was a great, unashamed, life-affirming laugh, he said it was one of the great laughs. What a bloody charmer, eh? I was seriously starting to wonder if I'd be spending the night at Will's instead of holding Abby's hair as she puked. I was starting to feel pretty damn good about myself, doing all the sexy banter, all the flirty-flirty stuff. I'm a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, I don't always read the signals. This, though, with Will, this Friday night, I felt bloody fantastic about everything.

"Alright, forget about your Nan and the shed and everything," Will said. "You've just got hold of this time machine somehow, okay? But you can only use it once, I mean for one return trip. There and back, then that's it. So the question is – where would you choose to go, the future or the past?" Then he frowned. "Actually this might not work so well on you because you're an archaeology student, not a normal person."

Anyway, to speed things up a bit, that question of Will's led to a conversation between us that went on until we all got chucked out of the place at about two and then continued in the taxi heading for Abby's house. I told Will I'd choose to visit the past, of course, either to sub-Roman Britain to see what it was really like, or all the way back to the start, before agriculture, to when we were still nomads. We talked about that for a while, the distant past, then Will said if he had the one-trip time machine he'd definitely choose the future, no question at all. At least two thousand years, he said, either that or a few million, because he wanted to see how it all panned out. 

So then we talked about that for a while, the far future. It was all quite slurry and rambly and drunken, of course, but it just kept going, and we got on to what all this might for our respective personalities, and about the state of the world in general, whether things were getting better or worse, whether there was any hope for the human race and all that. 

And then, suddenly it seemed, we were outside Abby's house and she was getting out of the taxi, stumbling on her doorstep, trying to find her key, fiddling it into the lock, waving goodnight, and falling into her hallway, while I was staying in the taxi with Will, who was in the middle of saying that there never was a golden age, it was just a fantasy, there was never a time when everything was in harmony and everyone was happy, but that there could possibly be one at some point to come if we didn't blow ourselves up or make ourselves extinct through climate change, and also there was Paul the spotty Australian IT boy who was fast asleep and snoring and had to be shoved really hard to wake him and get him out at his place in Riverside while we went on to Will's flat, quite a nice one in Llandaf North.

And then, suddenly it seemed, it was a year a later and we were on holiday in Rome. It was my first ever visit and it was amazing, overwhelming, beautiful, and Will and I were celebrating the anniversary of that night when we got together, and we were walking around having what was basically a continuation of the same conversation that we'd started then, in that over-priced cocktail bar in Roath.

It was an odd match really, Will and I. We were different in lots and lots and lots of ways. We hardly agreed on anything. And at first, I think we were both kind of fascinated by how different we were, despite having quite a lot in common. Here are some of the things we had in common:

smallish working class valleys hometowns, Aberdare and Glynneath

stopped feeling that we fit in to our respective hometowns at around the same age, 14

each had an older brother who got married and moved away, his to England, mine to Monmouthshire, which amounts to the same thing

divorced parents, both our dads had left home, both of us were under 10 at the time, and neither of us really saw much of our fathers

both went to Welsh school but hadn't really kept up the language since

first in our family to get a degree, Will having achieved a 2:2 in psychology

we'd both been members of the Green Party at some point, although neither of us was now

similarly miserable teenage years, greasy depressions spent in cocoons of totemic books, music, films, art, clothes, comedy, metaphysics, magic, comics, etc, evolving into a dense and intricate personal para-reality to which the everyday world of bus stops and dog shit was merely a laughable and mundane annexe.

It felt as though we'd started off in roughly the same place but had headed in different directions. We kept coming back to the past/future thing, it was like some structuring principle we used in thinking about our differences. Here are some of differences we noticed:

Favourite films - me: Agora, with Rachel Weisz as Hypatia, Elizabeth, with Cate Blanchett, Mel Gibson's Mayan epic Apocalypto, and yes Gladiator. Will liked Bladerunner, Alien, Star Wars, the first Matrix, The Fifth Element, and Guardians of the Galaxy

Books/authors – On holidays from my study reading I liked Sarah Waters and Hilary Mantel. One of my favourites was Alan Garner, ever since I read The Owl Service when I was thirteen. As a kid I read and loved all of Tolkien to the point where it affected my dreams and I saw epic battles on my walk to school, raging in the morning clouds that cling to the scarp of Maerdy mountain. Will had never read any Tolkien but had an impressive number of multi-part space operas under his belt, his favourite being Iain M. Banks' Culture novels. He could quote huge chunks of Douglas Adams and he also loved William Gibson...or was it William Burroughs? One or the other anyway. He mostly read non-fiction now, a lot of pop science, Freakonomics, Malcolm Gladwell, Dawkins.

Music – I listened to Fairport Convention and Nina Simone. Will listened to German minimal techno

The state of the world today – we both agreed that everything was in a right mess, massive poverty, total exploitation, greed, capitalism, eco collapse, extinction event imminent, all caused by us. Not just Will and me. Humans. Where we differed was where we looked for possible solutions. It was the time machine again – he went forward, I went back. Will felt there was no way to fix all the things wrong with the world by going back, it was too late. Humans had caused damage to the world by being too clever – fossil fuels, international tourism etc – but it was only humans therefore who could fix it all, by being even more clever. He looked to a post-market utopia in which we've abolished scarcity, outgrown the lizard brain, conquered evil and greed with intelligence, and built a new world based on a new understanding. We'd first heal our planet with our incredible new machines, and then we'd move out beyond Earth in creative, peaceful waves, slowly evolving into children of the stars. I exaggerate, but only a bit. And me, I still do the same now, I dig back to older societies and pre-modern ways of life, tribal ways and folk narratives, non-profit motives, sustainability, to structures of feeling abandoned on the road to modernity, old medicines for our modern sickness. Will was never very open to any of this stuff. His closing flourish was always something about whatever the old days might have had going for them, it was basically a kind of blissful ignorance, hardly to be envied, and besides, no-one – not even you! - would genuinely want to live in any era of human history before reliable anaesthetics were invented.

As I say, we hardly agreed on anything. But in the early days that was part of what made it fun. We used to debate things a lot in the early days, it was what we did. And whatever we were talking about, at some level you could sense that same old past/present thing, his time machine thing. It really seemed to me he'd hit on something essential about his approach to life and mine, and the differences between them.

So we were in a cafe opposite the Colosseum having coffee, sat right in the bay window, watching the street life. I tried to order two double espressos but I messed up my pronunciation and the waiter brought us singles. Will beckoned the guy back over, and the waiter smiled and said, in English, "You want milk?" Will gave him half a grin, shook his head, and said, "Nessun latte – doppio – prego," and they both laughed, the waiter nodding and whisking off our tray. Then Will turned back to me and grinned his bloody adorable grin. I was thinking we might have this coffee then maybe pop back to the hotel room for an hour or so.

"Milk indeed," he said. "He must have taken us for a couple of weak ass English milk weeds."

I laughed.

"You know what you should do, Will? You should be a writer. You should write something."

"Ha, what?" he said. "I don't think so. I haven't got anything to say."

"You've always got something to say, you idiot."

"Well, yeah, but it's all bullshit really, when you come down to it."

"Well, yeah, but that needn't matter. Look at some of the crap that that sells."

"Mmm, Da Vinci Code, Fifty Shades, Jeremy Clarkson, fair point," he said. "But, no, no, I really don't think there's anything in my particular brand of bullshit that would sell."

"I don't know," I said. "What about your time machine? I'd say you could definitely make something out of that. It's good. It gets you thinking."

"Do you reckon?"

"I do, yes, I think you could make that into something, a story, something funny and clever," I said, "like you."

And he leaned across the table and kissed me. A big kiss, right there in the bay window, with everyone going by. When I opened my eyes again he was smiling at me, his eyes were so warm, he was so handsome, and golden autumnal Rome was glowing away behind him. I felt so good, so happy, more than happy. It was all so much more than I'd expected. I whispered a suggestion to him and, after our espressos, we popped back to the hotel for an hour.

Will often said he'd like to write but he never did. And the thing is, he already had a story about that time machine, an actual story with a beginning, a middle, and a funny but very bleak punchline. I couldn't see why he didn't write it up. Can we just skip just for a minute back to that first night I spent with Will, at his flat in Llandaf North? So it's stupid o'clock in the morning, we're both at the point where you drink yourselves sober, and we're out on his brown bolted balcony. I'm squinting at

glimpses of the Millennium Stadium and the BT building through the trees. A mile and half away, the city centre. The rain is falling but the air is warm and smells sweet. We're still not quite sure if we're going to do it. Will had a text from his ex earlier – at three in the morning! - and it sort of made the atmosphere between us a bit weird. So now we're on the balcony, talking. I remember telling him that all his Bladerunners and his Aliens and his cyberpunk whatever, all these futures he was into were all horrible. Mostly these were all dystopias. It was satire. The future in most of these things he loved was some crazy exaggerated version of today's world, with all our problems pushed to the limit. I remember him grinning as I pressed the point.  Well, he said, realistically, and whatever I'd prefer, it's probably more likely we'll fuck it all up and ruin the world. Realistically speaking, he said. That's funny, I told him, you love the future but you don't even believe in it really. Your best guess is it's going to be even worse than today.

And then he told me this story. There's this couple, he said, and she's like you, she loves the past. And he loves the future. And one day this time machine really does turn up, but you can only take one ride each in it. Just one return trip because human minds can only deal with the experience once in a lifetime, any more and you burn out your brain. So she goes first, heads into the past, and comes back a few seconds later in a state of deep depression and disillusionment. Then he has a go, into the future, and comes back a few seconds, depressed and disillusioned. They conclude from their experiences that the present is as good as it gets and enter into a suicide pact. As for living, they say, our spambots can do that for us. But then he remembers that he's already visited both their graves in the far future and the dates on their headstones made it clear they were going to live for several more decades so they don't bother and just split up. She later married a quantity surveyor and bought a big house near Chepstow, and he drank himself to death.  

So it was a funny little story with a bleak punchline. I kept telling him to write it up but he never did. I couldn't understand because he kept saying he wanted to write. I mean, I thought it would be a good little exercise to get him started. After all, he had the whole thing there, he just had to write it up. But he didn't write it. He didn't write anything. If he did, I never saw it.

This morning I looked through my bedroom window and the sky was turning a lighter and lighter blue as the sun came up over the motorway. Everything around was beginning to glow. By the time I got to work the clouds had come, colours went grey, and at lunchtime it started raining. It was pouring down as I drove home at five. I sat in a traffic jam on Cathedral Road, blowing the heaters to clear the windscreen, getting hot and prickly, opening the window and getting splashed, and thinking, well, how quickly it came and went, that early sun, and what a long time ago it seemed now.

There's a Welsh saying, Nid yn y bore mae canmol diwrnod teg. A rough translation would be something like, Morning is not the time to praise a fine day. In other words, it's very unwise to call it a nice day when it's still early and it might well piss down later. I love that. It's one of the cliches about the Welsh, that we're very pessimistic. All down to the rain, or the diet, or being conquered, or the Miners Strike. I can't speak for anyone else though, Welsh or otherwise. You might call it pessimism, fair enough - I just call it realism.

I've just got back from a conference in Rome. The paper I gave looked at some of the connections between Macsen Wledig of the Mabinogion and the real life Roman emperor Magnus Maximus. It was beautiful, of course, as it always is in the autumn, golden, and glowing. I walked down by the Tiber where all the plane trees had turned orange and were dropping their leaves into the river. Being the maudlin bitch I am, I made a point of walking pretty much the exact route I walked with Will, eleven years ago now, from the Circus to the Colosseum and up to the Capitoline Hill. It was dark by the time I got to the top and my legs were aching. I leaned on a railing, looking down at the spotlit Forum, and I thought about Will, and I thought about my father, who died six months ago next Tuesday, and I felt like crying to be honest. But I didn't, partly because it would have been pathetic and made me feel worse, but mainly because these anti-depressants I'm on seem to dry up my tear ducts. I get the trigger to cry but nothing comes. Probably for the best.

When I get home from these things I'm always exhausted. Even a short trip with no paper to give leaves me completely worn out. I know what it is. It's not the work, that's nothing. It's not even giving the paper, I've long since built my public speaking armour, I can climb into it whenever I need to. No, it's all the other stuff. The chatting and socialising. Relaxing, kicking back. Networking. All that side of it. I'm useless at it. Wears me out. Never been any good at that stuff.

So I tend to get home, lock myself in my house, set the phone to messages, and basically not talk to anyone for, well, for as long as I can get away with. Which is usually about 48 hours, then I go back to work. I always make sure to book time off for exactly this purpose. I call it my decompression period. If I don't get it, if I have to go straight back to work, I go a bit mad. Noticably so. Incredibly irritable, interspersed with moments of mild hysteria. To be fair to my colleagues, they're used to it by now, they've adapted, it's become 'a thing', an amusing thing everyone knows about me, Anna. Academia is a perfect trap for eccentrics. Everyone has their quirks, but actual, diagnosable personality disorders are no more or less common than in any other vocation.

I haven't really changed. Not really.

During decompression I can't even read anything. All my books stay on their shelves. I turn instead to the internet. Last night I watched a whole series of a forgotten ITV sitcom from the 80s called Me and My Girl, starring Richard O'Sullivan as a widower bringing up his now teenage daughter Sam, played by Emma Ridley. Don't ask me why, it's not very good. And this morning I looked up Will's Facebook. Don't ask me why. He's got his profile set to public so I can have a good look at all his family holidays, his wife's birthday, their anniversaries, their kids growing up. Not that I envy her, I can just imagine all the crap she has to put up with. She probably doesn't even know the half of it. She looks more and more hopeless in the pictures, to be quite honest, and a bit thinner every time. This – looking at Will's Facebook – this is no good. I realise that and I hardly ever do it. Why would I, really? I found out all about Will a long time ago, and that's why we're not together now. The main feeling I get when I think of how close I came to ending up with him is relief. I look around my cosy house and I think, wow, close escape. But when I'm in this state, post-conference, I end up doing it, peeking into Will's life, I don't know why.

I wondered if Will ever did rouse himself to write anything. If he ever made something of his time machine thing. By the look of his Facebook, he hadn't, he was still at the humanities library, head of department. When I was full of his family pictures I just sorted of drifted through various Google searches, all pretty desultory. I suppose I was vaguely wondering if anyone else had come up with a similar idea anywhere in the world. Turned out, someone had. My drifting led to a review of a book of short stories, called Minimum City, including one which sounded remarkably similar to Will's time machine story. It was just a synopsis really but it was enough to make me look up the short story collection and its author. It was an American author, a man, quite a big name but I'd never heard of him. Contemporary set fiction still isn't really my thing. From reading the Amazon reviews and all the rest of it, this is what I learned about Minimum City:

It was made up of 28 stories

They were all very short, some only a paragraph long

It was a very slim book, with big type and wide margins

All the stories were set in the modern world

They all tended to have some kind of twist / sting in the tail

The tone was cynical, darkly funny, etc etc

It didn't sound like my kind of thing but I could imagine Will enjoying it, at least Will as he was when I knew him, I can't speak for now obviously. I found the story. It had first been published in an online literature journal before being collected in the Minimum City collection. Its title was The Return Trip. It was very short. A couple come into possession of a time machine. All the rest follows exactly as in the story Will told me on the balcony of his flat in The Crescent at about four in the morning, twelve years ago. Right down to the spambots line. 

I'd already checked publication dates. The Return Trip by this American author whose name eludes me now was first published in an online magazine called Young Boasthard's four years and eight months before Will told me the story. It was collected in Minimum City and published by Harper Collins six months before Will told me that story and passed it off as his own, on the balcony of his flat.

And I started laughing and laughing, until I had to put my bowl down in case I got milky cornflakes over my t-shirt.

[isingletonmajortwo2022]

The Mabinogion:

The Mabinogion is a collection of tales from two medieval manuscripts: The White Book of Rhydderch and The Red Book of Hergest. First fully translated from Middle Welsh into English and Welsh by Lady Charlotte Guest in the mid 19th century. The Mabinogion is a series of eleven (sometimes twelve tales depending on which translation you read), often divided into four groups.

The title of the collection, The Mabinogion, is a grammatical error - Lady Charlotte Guest used the term Mabinogion as a plural and the name kind of stuck. Derived from the word Mabinogi coming from the welsh word Mab, meaning boy or youth - this became Mabinogi, meaning tales of youth/boyhood or tales for boys, but it is agreed that Mabinogi as a term in the manuscripts is more likely to mean Tale. (Though the first four branches are the only tales in the Mabinogion that refer to themselves as Mabinogi.)

The tales mix folklore, myth, historical retellings and Arthurian legends, often concerning magical beings, Annwn or the Otherworld in English and Welsh Royalty. There is no single author of the manuscripts, though it is agreed that the first four branches are written by the same author. The manuscripts originated from around 1100-1400; this dating explains the widely different writing styles and references - each tale references aspects of medieval life and the generally agreed upon morals and ethics of the time. In addition to this, the dates of the stories themselves differ wildly. The first four branches and the Tale Lludd and Llefelys predate Christianity as they contain references to the Celtic ‘pagan’ religion in Wales before Christianity, and The Dream of Mascen Wledig is believed to originate from around AD 383. All of the stories in the Mabinogion predate the manuscripts and come from oral traditions/storytelling - the manuscripts are some of the only written evidence we have of these stories.

The Four Branches of the Mabinogi: Pwyll Pendefig Dyfed/Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed Branwen ferch Llyr/Branwen, the daughter of Llyr Manawydan fab Llyr/Manawyddan, the Son of Llyr Math fab Mathonwy/Math, Son of Mathonwy.

The Three Romances: Owain/Larlles y Ffynnon/Owain or The Lady of the Fountain/Well Peredur fab Efrog/Peredur, son of Efrawg Geraint fab Erbin/ Geraint ac Enid/ Geraint, son of Erbin or Geraint and Enid

Native Tales (mix of folklore and retelling of history): Breuddwyd Macsen Wledig/The Dream of Maxen/Macsen Wledig Lludd a Llefelys/ Lludd and Llefelys Hanes Taliesin/ The Tale of Taliesin

Arthurian Legend: Culhwch ac Olwen/ Culhwuch or Kilhwch and Olwen/ The Twrch Trwyth Breuddwyd Rhonabwy/The Dream of Rhonabwy

The Mabinogion - English translation by Lady Charlotte Guest 1840 - Illustrations by Alan Lee 1982 The Mabinogion - Translated by Sioned Davies Y Mabinogion - Dafydd a Rhiannon Ifans https://www.library.wales/discover/digital-gallery/manuscripts/the-middle-ages/white-book-of-rhydderch#?c=&m=&s=&cv=&xywh=-359%2C0%2C4797%2C4079

[artsyld]

Here's my seasonal Autumn piece and hopefully soon an art print I can put for sale!

In the Mabinogion, a go-to collection of Welsh stories, we have 'The Dream of Macsen Wledig', in which Elen of the Hosts is the literal dream girl of a Roman Emperor. Upon finally finding her, he requested her hand in marriage. When she agreed and married him, she created many roads for her soldiers.

She is a minor character in my comic, The Vale of Wales ( @vowcomic ), in which many centuries of living in Annwn, the Otherworld, has turned her into something else...something different...

Won't you stay awhile?

[earlytravel]

United Kingdom

Horizons and cloudy days in Morecambe Bay, England. Spectacular seascape views and natural landscapes.

Manchester Ship Canal by night. A 36 mile inland waterway that starts near Liverpool, England.

Iconic Albert Dock in Liverpool. An integral part of Liverpool’s World Heritage waterfront and a major part of the city’s cultural life.

Stunning Windermere in the Lake District, Cumbria. Famous for its rolling green hills, lakes and mountains, with Scafell Pike being the highest.

Castle Cornet stands guarding St. Peter Port on the island of Guernsey. According to local folklore, Guernsey was once invaded by a group of fairies.

Breathtaking views of The Needles lighthouse and The Needles themselves on the Isle of Wight. Queen Victoria loved the Isle of Wight so much she built her much-loved summer residence and final home, Osborne House, on the island.

The Shambles is a historic street in York, England, that dates back to medieval times. With its cobbled streets and overhanging buildings, The Shambles is believed to have been the inspiration behind Diagon Alley from Harry Potter.

The iconic and historic Brighton Pier, Brighton, England. This Grade 2 listed pier was first opened in 1899.

Caernarfon Castle is a medieval fortress in Gwynedd, Wales. The polygonal towers echoed Roman architecture and recalled the welsh myth of Macsen Wledig, who dreamed of a great fort at the mouth of a river. A real life castle of dreams.

Colourful beach huts and the towering lighthouse in Southwold, Suffolk. John Constable, who is famous for his landscapes, used Suffolk as his inspiration.

Folkestone in Kent, England. A small port town on the English Channel, south east England.

[themori-witch]

Do you have any sources on Elen of the Ways? I've become recently devoted to her and want to know all I can about her :)

I know very, very little on Elen myself, only that belief in her was prevalent in prehistory, meaning that resources from the time are practically non-existent. Pretty much everything known about Elen today comes from one woman: Caroline Wise. 

ELEN OF THE WAYS is protector of crossroads and pathways, and she serves as guardian for all of those who undertake a journey (physically, emotionally, spiritually). 

She is sometimes seen as the female equivalent or counterpart to Cernunnos as she is known as The Horned Goddess (due to the antlers she sports), among other epithets. 

Elen appears as Elen Luyddogg in the Mabinogion—a collection of Welsh myths—in “The Dream of Macsen Wledig”. Macsen (Magnus Maximus/Magnus Macsenus, a Roman Emperor) meets Elen in his dreams and is captivated by her beauty, which he compares to the Sun. Upon waking, Macsen finds Elen. The pair embrace and within a day, are married. 

As his wife, Elen asks for the land that holds three important cities as a gift. She then goes on to supervise the construction of roads that lead from one fortress in each city, to the next. This was to aid in the protection of the fortresses and the cities. In this tale, we come to know Elen as “Elen of the Hosts”.

The day that honours this tale is the 22nd of May. This means that we can assume that Elen is associated in some way, with Spring. 

Here are the only sources that I know of:

DISCLAIMER: I have not read any of the books featured and cannot personally tell you about them/their content. 

Journal of the Hedge Druid.

Order of the White Moon. 

The Mabinogion: The Dream of Macsen Wledig.

Finding Elen: The Quest for Elen of the Ways by Caroline Wise. 

[skydaemon]

wales: we have a story about you in the mabinogion

magnus maximus, roman emperor: oh, cool

wales: its called the dream of macsen wledig

magnus maximus, roman emperor:

Medieval Welsh people: *gives a pseudo-historical figure a name that is distinctly welsh and not at all irish* this is the king of Ireland.

[gingersnaptaff]

hi anon again and no you didn't bore me at ALL!! i loved hearing about the welsh arthurian mythos and i want to know more. please tell me where i can read about them and tell me interesting facts you like about it!!!!!!!!

Anon, I am hugging u. Thank u for saying I didn't bore u!!! So glad u liked my mad ramblings!!!

Okay, so The Mabinogion is probably a good place to start. It contains four branches of Welsh mythology which sorta ties into Welsh Arthuriana because some of the gods (Manawydan, Pryderi, Gwyn ap Nudd, Mabon ap Modron, Bendigeidfran's head.) pop up in both. Also, it contains Culhwch and Olwen which is a tale concerning Arthur's cousin Culhwch going on a quest with Arthur and his knights so he can marry Ysbaddaden Pencawr's daughter, Olwen. It's believed to be the earliest-written Arthurian romance preserved in manuscripts. It also contains three other Arthurian romances which are either Welsh tales that have been adapted by De Troyes and then back into Welsh but with a twist, or just based on French romance tales that have been repressed for the Welsh. (Idk really know which one is true but they're all fun!!!)

There's also the tales of Lludd and Llefelys (a personal fave.), The Dream of Rhonabwy (a fictional dream containing Arthurian characters but also actually REAL LIFE Welsh ruler Madog ap Maredudd.), AND The Dream of Macsen Wledig which is essentially one man's quest to bonk a hot lady in Caernarfon. (Tbf, Macsen Wledig is somewhat of an Arthurian figure in his own right cuz he too is seen as a Mab Darogan (prophecised son) in Welsh Culture because he united the Welsh under one banner, and then died, and then Wales immediately split into kingdoms again.)

You can either access Charlotte Guest's translation which I am sure @queer-ragnelle has scanned, or Sioned Davies' new translation which has handy dandy footnotes and such.

There's also Gwyn Jones and Thomas Jones translation which uses a lot of the medieval language but was also made into a beautifully illustrated book by Alan Lee (An illustrator who is famous for LOTR illustrations). Jeffrey Gantz's edition is, I think, the most recently published edition but you can tear Sioned Davies from my COLD DEAD HANDS. Or, if you like poetry, one of my old English lit lecturers, Matthew Francis, has done a poetry version of the four branches! It's amazing!!!!

Also, Naxos has an audiobook version read by Matt Addis which uses Guest's translation but is good for listening to. I love it.

(You'll also want Trystan ac Essyllt, 'The Triads of Britain' and 'The Arthur of the Welsh' which are written by Rachel Bromwich, and I recommend O.J. Padel's 'Arthur in Medieval Welsh Literature' for more on how he's portrayed through that. And if you like modern re-tellings Seren Books has a box set of them! Each one is a re-telling of each branch of the Mabinogi, Culhwch and Olwen, the three romances, and the others. Very fun!)

Now in terms of my favourite things: Peredur being Urien's first cousin irl made me be like WHAT? Like, they're SO interconnected it's MADNESS. Urien, Owain, and Peredur are all related. Also, the fact that Welsh Arthuriana has swallowed up eight irl monarchs (Edern ap Nudd, Cunedda, Owain, Urien, Geraint, Peredur, Macsen Wledig, Cynon ap Clydno (Owain's sister, Morfudd's, lover), and Cynyr Ceinfarfog (Cai's dad), one poetic genius (Taliesin - who wrote about Urien as it goes!!! BTW read the tale of Taliesin. Sjdddkxk. The Jones and Jones translation has it, the Davies translation of the Mabinogi does not.), Emrys Wyllt who was the inspiration for Merlin, and sixty-seven thousand gods, as well as a few saints.

My favourite fact about Welsh Arthuriana is probably that Gwalchmai and Peredur probs had a relationship, Arthur is canonically in love with his boat, Cai literally says 'if u held my dick like that I'd die.' in Culhwch and Olwen, and Gwenhwyfar's a fuckin GIANTESS. 😍😍😍😍 I have many more facts but like I don't want to clutter the feed!!!!!

Hope my rambles were helpful in some way! Have a good day/night, anon! ☺️🧡

[milenapetrofig]

Caernarfon castle is anglicised often as Carnarvon castle or Caernarvon castle. The mediaeval fortress in Caernarfon at Gwynedd in northwest Wales is cared for by Cadw which is the Welsh Government's historic environment service. Castell Caernarfon as it is referred to in Welsh is situated between mainland North Wales and Anglesey or Ynys Mon.  The Coastal Way is one of three new travel routes through Wales to journey from Aberdaron on the Llŷn peninsula in the north following the coast all the way to Pembrokeshire.

There was a motte and bailey castle from the late eleventh century until 1283 when King Edward I of England began to replace it with the current stone structure. The Edwardian town and castle acted as the administrative centre of North Wales and as a result the defences were built on a grand scale. There was a deliberate link with Caernarfon's Roman past and the Roman fort of Segontium is nearby.

The grand fortress placed in front of the town to defend it on the banks of the River Seiont is grouped with Edward I’s other castles at Conwy, Beaumaris and Harlech as a World Heritage Site. For sheer scale and architectural drama Caernarfon stands alone. Edward I ordered his military architect Master James of Saint George  to erect a castle, town walls and a quay all at the same time in a gigantic building project over the space of forty seven years.

After seven hundred years it stirs the imagination like no other Welsh castle being a legend brought to life and made of dreams. Polygonal towers echoed imperial Roman architecture and especially the walls of Constantinople. 

They also recalled the Welsh myth of Macsen Wledig who dreamed of a great fort at the mouth of a river as the fairest that man ever saw. Born out of bitter war with Welsh princes its immense curtain walls and daunting King’s Gate were designed to withstand assault with polygonal towers, eagle statues and many coloured masonry which sent a more subtle message. The Eagle tower with its three great turrets and eighteen foot thick walls is the crowning glory of Caernarfon Castle.

[thephantomofthelibrary]

Caernarfon Castle

As with many castles, Caernarfon began life as a Roman Fort, hence the name, caer means fort in Welsh. The ruins of this fort lay not far from the castle today.  When the Normans invaded a Motte and Bailey castle was constructed on the site, this would be where the final version of the castle would stand. It is possible that a Welsh built castle used ot once stand on the site as in 1115 Llywelyn Mawr reconquered Gwynedd from the Normans. 

The history of the castle as it stands today begins in 1282 with the conquest of Wales by Edward I, King of England.Construction on the castle began in 1283. It was to be a castle full of symbolism and mythology. Edward ordered that the walls have bands of colour running around them and for the towers to be angular, much like those at the Roman built city of Constantinople. But this had a greater significance than simply replicating the walls. He was comparing himself to a character in Welsh myth, the particular myth being The Dream of Macsen Wledig, in the Mabinogion, a book of welsh myths. This myth tells the tale of a Roman Emperor whom the Welsh knew as Macsen Wledig but you may know him as Magnus Maximus. The myth tells the tale of Macsen having a dream of the most beautiful maiden in a magnificent fortress. He has his troops search the whole empire to find her and they eventually do. Her name was Elen and she was from the town we now know as Caernarfon. The myth goes on to state that they married and he ran the empire from Caernarfon. It is of course a fictional story built around a historical figure but myth and history often intermingle in the medieval era. In the design of this castle, Edward was comparing himself to this figure who had become shrouded in Welsh myth, an attempt to consolidate his power in Wales after the defeat of Llywelyn ap Gruffudd, Prince of Wales. Edward also claimed to have found the body of the emperor at Caernarfon.

(Remnants of the bands can still be seen on the castle walls)

(The walls of Constantinople)

Building was paused for a some time in 1294 due to another Welsh rebellion which seriously damaged the castle. But soon after building recommenced.

In 1284, King Edward and his pregnant wife Eleanor visited the castle, but this was not just to see how construction of the most impressive castle yet was going. It was Edward’s intention for Eleanor to give birth in the castle, in hopes that through the child he could further link the ancient myth to him. 24 April 1284, the queen gave birth to a son. He was named Edward, Edward of Caernarfon. Three months later, Alfonso, the eldest son of the king and queen died making Edward of Caernafron the heir to the throne. Although distraught by the death of their child to have the heir to the throne born in Wales was perfect. And when in 1300 there were calls from the Welsh for them to be given a ruler (although submissive to the king) and they demanded one of welsh origin, he gave them one. In 1301, Edward of Caernarfon was created Prince of Wales. To this day the title still belongs to the eldest son of the monarch. 

Building finished in 1330 but the castle was never fully completed. It was an expensive venture and funds had run out. Even so, the castle was intended to be one of the greatest fortresses ever built with the most sophisticated of defences. For instance, the entrance at the gatehouse had a drawbridge,  five doors, six portcullises and multiple murder holes from which boiling liquids, spears, arrows etc could be bombarded down upon an enemy once they were trapped between some of the gates and or portcullises.  Despite the fact that it was never finished, the castle was and remains to be an incredibly impressive fortress. 

[dreamofmacsen]

Dream of Macsen

Stepping inside the hall, Macsen Wledig saw many fine pieces of furniture and rich decorations wherever he looked. On the far side of the hall, he saw two young men engaged in a game of chess on a wonderfully ornate chessboard. Sitting in a chair of ivory by a pillar of stone was a man with a rugged face and wild hair. On his head, he wore a diadem of gold and on his fingers were rings of precious metals set with gemstones. Golden bracelets adorned his wrists and arms, and around his throat he wore a torc of gold. Although the man was seated, it was clear he had a powerful physique and bearing, and he was engaged in the task of carving chess pieces.

Sitting before this strange man on a chair of burnished gold was a maiden whose beauty was more dazzling than the sun, and Macsen Wledig was almost blinded by her radiance. In his dream, she rose from her chair and he rose from his and they threw their arms around each other.  Then they sat down together, and their faces drew closer, and they sat together cheek to cheek and were poised to kiss.

https://folklorethursday.com/legends/british-legends-the-mabinogion-the-dream-of-macsen-wledig/

[wintersblight]

I'm just gonna list these guys in order. This one wasn't for me and I'm a bit shocked I can now read for people who aren't in a room with me. 1 - Death (13) Arawn 2 - King of Cups 3 - Page of Pentacles 4 - The Lovers (6) The Dream of Macsen Wledig 5 - Strength (8) Twrch Trwyth 6 - Four if Wands 7 - Six of Pentacles 8 - The Hermit (9) Myrddin 9 - Two of Cups This deck is based on Welsh mythology

[redladymoon]

#themaytarot Day 4. My Birth Tarot Cards & how they resonate. Bala Lake (the Tower) and Manawydan (the Chariot) are my birth tarot cards. This deck attributes Welsh mythology to each of the major arcana so their meanings are not quite traditional but similar enough. Honestly, my sun sign is Scorpio which is ruled by Pluto and Mars so having the Tower, great sweeping change, is not surprising. The Chariot is, especially since here, Manawydan is so completely hard working and honorable. But courage, success and harnessing wild energies all resonate so I'm cool with it. 🃏 Day 5. What does this deck have to say about my birth cards? For the Tower, I pulled the 7 of Swords which seems to indicate its an act of work. Like a cleansing that needs to be done even though its unappreciated. I pulled the Lovers for the Chariot. The Lovers in this deck is the Dream of Macsen Wledig which is probably the most romantic story I've ever read. The Chariot comes from a place of love, imagination and commitment it seems. 🃏 #scarletmooncreations #tarotreader #divinationcommunity #llewellyntarot #tarotbirthcards #astrology #selfcare #selfdevelopment #intuition #priestess #wicca #moonchild #numerology #newage #cartomancy #welshmythology #thechariot #thetower #thelovers #7ofswords #witchywoman