Outside the palace of Narberth there was a mound to which people ascribed mystical properties. According to popular tales, anyone who sat upon the mound was either wounded by invisible forces, or saw a wonder. One day Pwyll Pen Annwn decided that he would see if the stories were true.

At first, he sat tensely, body braced against expected blows; but after several uneventful minutes he relaxed. And that was when he saw the promised wonder.

A woman clad in gold, riding a pure white horse, passed by the mound. Pwyll was struck by her beauty, and ordered one of his men to approach her. The man walked toward the mysterious lady, and then walked faster and finally began to run, but he was unable to reach her and she passed from sight.

The next night, Pwyll went again to the mound, hopeful of seeing the woman. She did not disappoint, and appeared riding the same horse. Pwyll sent a horseman after her this time, but he fared no better than the footman. Once more, the lady passed out of sight.

There is magic at work here, Pwyll thought to himself. Perhaps he had been wrong to send servants in his place; the lady, in addition to possessing some otherworldly quality, was clearly of noble birth. Pwyll was a Prince, and had been a king in Annwn in place of his friend Arawn. Surely he himself was worthy of the lady's attentions.

So the next night, Pwyll went alone to the mound, and awaited the mysterious woman. She appeared again, and Pwyll followed her on horseback, first at a walk and finally a gallop, but he came no closer to her.

"Stop, I pray you, lady," he finally called, and much to his surprise she turned and smiled. His horse quickly drew even with hers.

"Gladly," she said. "You would have been kinder to your horse had you asked before."

Pwyll smiled, vaguely embarassed.

"My name is Rhiannon," the woman said. "I am the daughter of Heveydd the Ancient. My father's nobles have chosen a husband for me, a man I do not wish to marry.

"I choose you instead, Pwyll Penn Annwn, as the man I would marry."

"My lady?" Pwyll could scarcely believe his ears. This was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, more beautiful even than the wife of Arawn.

"Your name is known, Pwyll, and so are your deeds," Rhiannon said simply, and smiled again. "Do not insult my taste."

"I would not dream of doing so, my lady Rhiannon," Pwyll replied. "I would deny neither of us the benefits of your decision."

"I am glad. If you will have me, come to my father's hall one year hence."

"I shall be there," he promised, and watched as she nodded and disappeared from sight once more.

At the promised time, Pwyll and one hundred of his men set out for Heveydd's hall. He was welcomed, and Heveydd honored him by placing him at the head of the feast. Pwyll sat between Heveydd and Rhinannon; not since his time in the realm of Annwn had he enjoyed a feast so much.

So when a young man entered the hall and asked a boon of the bridegroom, Pwyll answered easily: "Whatever you crave shall be yours, if it is in my power to grant it."

At that point, the youth flung aside his outer garments, and Rhiannon's suitor stood revealed. "Then I claim Rhiannon."

"Stay quiet," Rhiannon ordered Pwyll, who had been struck dumb in any case. "You are not a witless man; why must you behave like one?"

"I did not know who he was...." Pwyll managed.

"His name is Gwawl, son of Clûd," Rhiannon answered absently. "And now you must give me to him, so that you are not shamed."

"Never. How can you even suggest it?" Pwyll demanded. "I thought you wanted me--"

"Give me to him," she insisted. "I can marry a fool, but not one who has dishonored himself with a broken promise." Still Pwyll made no move to obey. "Do as I say, and I promise that I shall never be Gwawl's."

"I grant your request," Pwyll announced. "One year from today, I shall make a feast for you and your bride."

On the appointed day, Gwawl took Pwyll's place at Rhiannon's side. As the feast progressed, Gwawl allowed himself to become drunk, as Pwyll had the year before. At the height of the festivities, a man dressed as a beggar entered the hall. Rhiannon smiled to herself: the Prince of Dyfed played his part well, and he had remembered to bring the magical bag which she had given him.

"I would beg a favor," Pwyll said to Gwawl.

"Continue, my good man," Gwawl answered.

"I am poor, my lord," Pwyll said. "I would ask that you fill this bag with meat."

"Surely, that is a request within reason," Gwawl laughed, and ordered the bag filled. But no matter how much food was placed within it, there was always room for more.

"This is a special bag," Pwyll explained to the astonished onlookers. "It may never be filled until a rich landed man treads upon the food."

"Do this for the man," Rhiannon urged Gwawl. "It is your place, as the head of this feast."

So Gwawl stepped into the bag, which Pwyll promptly pulled up over his head. On cue, his followers entered the hall and asked what their master had captured. "A badger," he replied, and each of his men kicked the bag.

Heveydd frowned at Rhiannon and Pwyll. "You have your victory. Beating the man you've tricked is disgraceful."

Somewhat ashamed, Pwyll ordered his followers to withdraw. "Renounce your claim on Rhiannon," he demanded of Gwawl, who lay groaning in the bag, "and swear never to try to avenge this day." Gwawl agreed, and was released.

So through Rhiannon's wit and Pwyll's willingness to accept good counsel, the marriage occurred without further difficulties, and the happy couple returned to Dyfed.

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