There was once a king and queen who had a little boy, and they called his name Kilweh. The queen, his mother, fell ill soon after his birth, and as she could not take care of him herself she sent him to a woman she knew up in the mountains, so that he might learn to go out in all weathers, and bear heat and cold, and grow tall and strong. Kilweh was quite happy with his nurse, and ran races and climbed hills with the children who were his playfellows, and in the winter, when the snow lay on the ground, sometimes a man with a would stop and beg for shelter, and in return would sing them songs of strange things that had happened in the years gone by.  
But long before this changes had taken place in the court of Kilweh’s father. Soon after she had sent her baby away the queen became much worse, and at length, seeing that she was going to die, she called her husband to her and said:
 
‘Never again shall I rise from this bed, and by and bye thou take another wife. But lest she should make thee forget thy son, I charge thee that thou take not a wife until thou see a briar with two blossoms upon my grave.’ And this he promised her. Then she further bade him to see to her grave that nothing might grow thereon. This likewise he promised her, and soon she died, and for seven years the king sent a man every morning to see that nothing was growing on the queen’s grave, but at the end of seven years he forgot.
 
One day when the king was out hunting he rode past the place where the queen lay buried, and there he saw a briar growing with two blossoms on it.
 
‘It is time that I took a wife,’ said he, and after long looking he found one. But he did not tell her about his son; indeed he hardly remembered that he had one till she heard it at last from an old woman whom she had gone to visit. And the new queen was very pleased, and sent messengers to fetch the boy, and in his father’s court he stayed, while the years went by till one day the queen told him that a prophecy had that he was to win for his wife Olwen the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr.
 
When he heard this Kilweh felt proud and happy. Surely he must be a man now, he thought, or there would be no talk of a wife for him, and his mind dwelt all day upon his promised bride, and what she would be like when he her.
 
‘What aileth thee, my son?’ asked his father at last, when Kilweh had forgotten something he had been bidden to do, and Kilweh blushed red as he answered:
 
‘My stepmother says that none but Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr, shall be my wife.’
 
‘That will be easily fulfilled,’ replied his father. ‘Arthur the king is thy cousin. Go therefore unto him and beg him to cut thy hair, and to grant thee this .’
 
Then the youth upon a dapple grey horse of four years old, with a of linked gold, and gold upon his saddle. In his hand he bore two spears of silver with heads of steel; a war-horn of ivory was round his shoulder, and by his side hung a golden sword. Before him were two white-breasted greyhounds with collars of round their necks, and the one that was on the left side bounded across to the right side, and the one on the right to the left, and like two sea-swallows sported round him. And his horse cast up four sods with his four , like four swallows in the air about his head, now above, now below. About him was a robe of purple, and an apple of gold was at each corner, and every one of the apples was of the value of a hundred cows. And the blades of grass not beneath him, so light were his horse’s feet as he journeyed toward the gate of Arthur’s palace.
 
‘Is there a porter?’ cried Kilweh, looking round for someone to open the gate.
 
‘There is; and I am Arthur’s porter every first day of January,’ answered a man coming out to him. ‘The rest of the year there are other porters, and among them Pennpingyon, who goes upon his head to save his feet.’
 
‘Well, open the portal, I say.’
 
‘No, that I may not do, for none can enter save the son of a king or a pedlar who has goods to sell. But elsewhere there will be food for thy dogs and hay for thy horse, and for thee collops cooked and peppered, and sweet wine shall be served in the guest .’
 
‘That will not do for me,’ answered Kilweh. ‘If thou wilt not open the gate I will send up three shouts that shall be heard from Cornwall unto the north, and yet again to Ireland.’
 
‘ clamour thou mayest make,’ spake Glewlwyd the porter, ‘thou shalt not enter until I first go and speak with Arthur.’
 
Then Glewlwyd went into the hall, and Arthur said to him:
 
‘Hast thou news from the gate?’ and the porter answered:
 
‘Far have I travelled, both in this island and elsewhere, and many kingly men have I seen; but never yet have I beheld one equal in to him who now stands at the door.’
 
‘If walking thou didst enter here, return thou running,’ replied Arthur, ‘and let everyone that opens and shuts the eye show him respect and serve him, for it is not meet to keep such a man in the wind and rain.’ So Glewlwyd unbarred the gate and Kilweh rode in upon his charger.
 
‘Greeting unto thee, O ruler of this land,’ cried he, ‘and greeting no less to the lowest than to the highest.’
 
‘Greeting to thee also,’ answered Arthur. ‘Sit thou between two of my , and thou shalt have minstrels before thee and all that belongs to one born to be a king, while thou remainest in my palace.’
 
‘I am not come,’ replied Kilweh, ‘for meat and drink, but to obtain a boon, and if thou grant it me I will pay it back, and will carry thy praise to the four winds of heaven. But if thou wilt not grant it to me, then I will proclaim thy discourtesy wherever thy name is known.’
 
‘What thou askest that shalt thou receive,’ said Arthur, ‘as far as the wind dries and the rain moistens, and the sun and the sea encircles and the earth extends. Save only my ship and my , my word and my lance, my shield and my , and Guinevere my wife.’
 
‘I would that thou bless my hair,’ spake Kilweh, and Arthur answered:
 
‘That shall be granted thee.’
 
Forthwith he bade his men fetch him a comb of gold and a scissors with loops of silver, and he combed the hair of Kilweh his guest.
 
‘Tell me who thou art,’ he said, ‘for my heart warms to thee, and I feel thou art come of my blood.’
 
‘I am Kilweh, son of Kilydd,’ replied the youth.
 
‘Then my cousin thou art in truth,’ replied Arthur, ‘and whatsoever boon thou mayest ask thou shalt receive.’
 
‘The boon I is that thou mayest win for me Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr, and this boon I seek likewise at the hands of thy warriors. From Sol, who can stand all day upon one foot; from Ossol, who, if he were to find himself on the top of the highest mountain in the world, could make it into a level plain in the beat of a bird’s wing; from Cluse, who, though he were buried under the earth, could yet hear the ant leave her nest fifty miles away: from these and from Kai and from Bedwyr and from all thy men I crave this boon.’
 
‘O Kilweh,’ said Arthur, ‘never have I heard of the of whom thou speakest, nor of her kindred, but I will send messengers to seek her if thou wilt give me time.’
 
‘From this night to the end of the year right willingly will I grant thee,’ replied Kilweh; but when the end of the year came and the messengers returned Kilweh was wroth, and rough words to Arthur.
 
It was Kai, the boldest of the warriors and the swiftest of foot—he would could pass nine nights without sleep, and nine days beneath the water—that answered him:
 
‘Rash youth that thou art, darest thou speak thus to Arthur? Come with us, and we will not part company till we have won that maiden, or till thou confess that there is none such in the world.’
 
Then Arthur summoned his five best men and bade them go with Kilweh. There was Bedwyr the one-handed, Kai’s comrade and brother in arms, the swiftest man in Britain save Arthur; there was Kynddelig, who knew the paths in a land where he had never been as surely as he did those of his own country; there was Gwrhyr, that could speak all tongues; and Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, who never returned till he had gained what he sought; and last of all there was Menw, who could weave a spell over them so that none might see them, while they could see everyone.
 
So these seven journeyed together till they reached a vast open plain in which was a fair castle. But though it seemed so close it was not until the evening of the third day that they really drew near to it, and in front of it a flock of sheep was spread, so many in number that there seemed no end to them. A shepherd stood on a watching over them, and by his side was a dog, as large as a horse nine winters old.
 
‘Whose is this castle, O herdsmen?’ asked the .
 
‘Stupid are ye truly,’ answered the herdsman. ‘All the world knows that this is the castle of Yspaddaden Penkawr.’
 
‘And who art thou?’
 
‘I am called Custennin, brother of Yspaddaden, and ill has he treated me. And who are you, and what do you here?’
 
‘We come from Arthur the king, to seek Olwen the daughter of Yspaddaden,’ but at this news the shepherd gave a cry:
 
‘O men, be warned and turn back while there is yet time. Others have gone on that quest, but none have escaped to tell the tale,’ and he rose to his feet as if to leave them. Then Kilweh held out to him a ring of gold, and he tried to put it on his finger, but it was too small, so he placed it in his glove, and went home and gave it to his wife.
 
‘Whence came this ring?’ asked she, ‘for such good luck is not to befall thee.’
 
‘The man to whom this ring belonged thou shalt see here in the evening,’ answered the shepherd; ‘he is Kilweh, son of Kilydd, cousin to king Arthur, and he has come to seek Olwen.’ And when the wife heard that she knew that Kilweh was her nephew, and her heart after him, half with joy at the thought of seeing him, and half with sorrow for the she feared.
 
Soon they heard steps approaching, and Kai and the rest entered into the house and ate and drank. After that the woman opened a chest, and out of it came a youth with curling yellow hair.
 
‘It is a pity to hid him thus,’ said Gwrhyr, ‘for well I know that he has done no evil.’
 
‘Three and twenty of my sons has Yspaddaden , and I have no more hope of saving this one,’ replied she, and Kai was full of sorrow and answered:
 
‘Let him come with me and be my comrade, and he shall never be slain unless I am slain also.’ And so it was agreed.
 
‘What is your errand here?’ asked the woman.
 
‘We seek Olwen the maiden for this youth,’ answered Kai; ‘does she ever come hither so that she may be seen?’
 
‘She comes every Saturday to wash her hair, and in the where she washes she leaves all her rings, and never does she so much as send a messenger to fetch them.’
 
‘Will she come if she is bidden?’ asked Kai, pondering.
 
‘She will come; but unless you pledge me your faith that you will not harm her I will not fetch her.’
 
‘We pledge it,’ said they, and the maiden came.
 
A fair sight was she in a robe of flame-coloured silk, with a collar of ruddy gold about her neck, bright with emeralds and rubies. More yellow was her head than the flower of the broom, and her skin was whiter than the of the wave, and fairer were her hands than the blossoms of the wood . Four white trefoils sprang up where she trod, and therefore was she called Olwen.
 
She entered, and sat down on a bench beside Kilweh, and he spake to her:
 
‘Ah, maiden, since first I heard thy name I have loved thee—wilt thou not come away with me from this evil place?’
 
‘That I cannot do,’ answered she, ‘for I have given my word to my father not to go without his knowledge, for his life will only last till I am . Whatever is, must be, but this counsel I will give you. Go, and ask me of my father, and whatsoever he shall required of thee grant it, and thou shalt win me; but if thou deny him anything thou wilt not obtain me, and it will be well for thee if thou escape with thy life.’
 
‘All this I promise,’ said he.
 
So she returned to the castle, and all Arthur’s men went after her, and entered the hall.
 
‘Greeting to thee, Yspaddaden Penkawr,’ said they. ‘We come to ask thy daughter Olwen for Kilweh, son of Kilydd.’
 
‘Come hither to-morrow and I will answer you,’ replied Yspaddaden Penkawr, and as they rose to leave the hall he caught up one of the three poisoned that lay beside him and flung it in their midst. But Bedwyr saw and caught it, and flung it back so hard that it pierced the knee of Yspaddaden.
 
‘A gentle son-in-law, truly!’ he cried, with pain. ‘I shall ever walk the worse for this rudeness. Cursed be the smith who forged it, and the on which it was !’
 
That night the men slept in the house of Custennin the herdsman, and the next day they proceeded to the castle, and entered the hall, and said:
 
‘Yspaddaden Penkawr, give us thy daughter and thou shalt keep............