Samildanach…

*

…The torchbearers hurriedly re-lit the torches of Dun Culhwch.

“Why, a veritable master of all the crafts we have here, it would seem,” said Big Chief Hawthorn, “but let a seat be brought for this man who has asked for my daughter’s hand that I might consider him the more keenly.”

So a seat was brought and Big Chief Hawthorn and Gwythyr, son of Greidyawl, sat face to face.

“A question, O Yoke-of-all-Craft, from where do you hail?” asked Big Chief Hawthorn.

Answered Gwythyr, “From a wise man’s heel, and you, O Big Chief Hawthorn?” he asked.

Answered Big Chief Hawthorn “From a confluence of wisdoms, and you, O Yoke-of-all-Craft?” he asked.

Answered Gwythyr, “From a hazel of true poetry’s wisdom, and you, O Big Chief Hawthorn?” he asked.

Answered Big Chief Hawthorn, “From the height of the sun’s expanse, and you, O Yoke-of-all-Craft?” he asked.

Answered Gwythyr, “From the extent of the moon’s mansions, and you, O Big Chief Hawthorn?” he asked.

Answered Big Chief Hawthorn, “From splendour’s circuits, and you, O Yoke-of-all-Craft?” he asked.

Answered Gwythyr, “From the brightness of sunrise, and you, O Big Chief Hawthorn?” he asked.

Answered Big Chief Hawthorn, “From that state where truth’s worth is measured, and you, O Yoke-of-all-Craft?” he asked.

Answered Gwythyr, “From that measure where truth is realised, and you, O Big Chief Hawthorn?” he asked.

Answered Big Chief Hawthorn, “From that reality where lies are vanquished, and you, O Yoke-of-all-Craft?” he asked.

Answered Gwythyr, “From perfection of goodness, and you, O Big Chief Hawthorn?” he asked.

Answered Big Chief Hawthorn, “From where all colours are seen, and you, O Yoke-of-all-Craft? he asked.

Answered Gwythyr, “From where all art is born, and you, O Big Chief Hawthorn?” he asked.

Answered Big Chief Hawthorn, “From the width of the pillars of the age, and you, O Yoke-of-all-Craft?” he asked.

Answered Gwythyr, “From the stretch of a babe’s life-cord, and you, O Big Chief Hawthorn?”

He asked, but Big Chief Hawthorn had fallen silent and was deep in contemplation…

 

Extract from, ‘Crucible of the Sun’, by Stuart France

*