Y Cwn Annwn Part 3.

The Challenge

The green hills of Dyfed were almost lost in the haze on the horizon.

‘Usually, it’s quite a view,’ said Rhys, standing at his side, ‘it’s a pity about the mist today.’

The pair of them stood on a grass ridge overlooking the river. It was as wide and deep and as silver coloured as Pwyll remembered from a year ago when he had been accompanied across it with the pack of dogs. How that had been possible now mystified him. There was no hint of shallowness to that slow moving water, although he was assured this was the ford Hagfan intended as the place they were to meet. The bank below was strewn with shingle. An outcrop of rocks extended out into a dark grey spur in the water. The ground, Pwyll realised, was uneven and looked wet underfoot. A perilous stage to dance around an axe wielding giant and stand a chance.

‘Of course, it’s not the best time of year if you want the full benefit of the scenery here,’ Rhys continued, ‘June is far better. Good sunshine and the flowers are quite something then, such an extensive cover of gold, white and scarlet blossom.’

‘I need to get down there.’ Pwyll cut Rhys off as he launched into a list of all the names of the riverside plants.

‘You will have a bit of a wait, then,’ Rhys replied, forced to abandon showing off his knowledge, ‘for Hagfan, I mean. I don’t believe he intends to turn up until this afternoon. I thought perhaps, in the meantime, you might get in a bit of sword practice, discuss tactics, possibly a picnic lunch. I might take leave from your lordship to gather some botanical samples. The men are anticipating a day out, my lord.’

Pwyll turned to the councillor. ‘Rhys, if I’m expected to defeat that great menhir of a man, if he is indeed human, then I need a plan.’

Rhys’ eyes lit up. ‘Ahh, you intend a reconnoitre! Excellent, my lord. Do you intend yourself or some of the men to descend and assess the terrain?’

Pwyll looked down. Immediately below them was scree, sloping sharply to the river.

‘I will go down, but I need someone with me who is familiar with this mountain. There must be a safe path.’

‘None of the men with us are from this area, my lord, and I am, as you might have learned, merely an expert in the local flora and fauna, certainly no mountain guide,’ Rhys paused, ‘I suggest Culhuwch might be of assistance?’

‘The dog?’

‘They are all guides, my lord, every one of the pack. Don’t you remember, even you require their assistance to cross the river at this point? ' For a moment, Pwyll was sure a small smile played on the other man's lips. From the start, Rhys had seemed suspicious and Pwyll was by no means sure that Arawn had not shared with his right hand man the secret of their exchange.

' Although why you bother to visit that ham bone country of Dyfed.' Rhys shook his head. ' Well, I cannot even begin to guess the motive that is hidden within your lordship’s wisdom. Hagfan has made it clear, unlike the last occasion, that the dogs do not accompany you to the challenge, but there is no reason Culhuwch cannot take you down now. Indeed, if you are shown the cliff pathway to the river bank it will save us all a journey around the mountain later to get there.’ Rhys warmed to the thought. ‘The men and I can sit up here and watch you defeat Hagfan once again from this vantage point. As I have said, my lord, it’s a tremendous view from here as long as the mist doesn’t settle.’

‘Bring Culhuwch to me,’ said Pwyll. He had no idea how long it would take, even with the dog’s powers, to discover a way to the river bank. He realised he had to act immediately. The sooner he got down there, the quicker he might come up with something to help him against Hagfan. Pwyll knew that in a straight fight with the giant he stood no chance. He did not possess Arawn’s strength and technique with the sword. He could barely lift the King’s weapon, never mind wield it either to parry Hagfan’s great axe or deliver any telling strikes of his own. It might, indeed, suit him if Rhys and the rest of the men remained at a distance up here on the mountain top. That way, the tactics he had in mind might not be obvious to them.

As Pwyll returned, the men were settled in groups on the grass and were finishing off the rye bread and beer. Rhys was looking particularly happy bundling up whatever he had been collecting in a large bag that he looped around his horse’s saddle.

On catching sight of Pwyll as he clambered back over the rim of the rock, Rhys rushed over to greet him. Culhuwch, who had arrived at the top first, was sitting waiting for him, the dog’s pitch-black eyes carefully watching as, breathing heavily from the climb, Pwyll collapsed on the ground.

‘My lord,’ asked Rhys, ‘was that a successful reconnoitre? We have saved some food for you.’

Pwyll made his way down, this time without the giant dog. Culhuwch had taken on his spectral form earlier that day. As Pwyll stepped over the cliff edge, he had watched the dog leap ahead of him, his large paws hardly brushing a boulder as he sprang for the next. It was as if a pale translucent shadow flitted from point to point down the mountain. Pwyll followed the shade and slowly, he began to see the spirit-marked pathway, sometimes unexpectedly when it led back up the cliff, before then, making a traverse, but always eventually the route travelling downwards until they had both arrived on the bank of the river. He only had to repeat the steps he had memorised that morning from the dog.

And there was no one there. No sign of Hagfan. At the top, Pwyll had hefted Arawn’s great sword on his back and carried it down with him, and all the way, feeling its weight, he thought, with luck and if all went to plan, he would not need it, at least until the very end and if he was still alive.

It was mid-afternoon though and the giant was no where in sight. Pwyll wondered whether he had underestimated his foe. Hagfan, after all, was a king himself and that needed at least some cunning, either to attain a crown or keep it or both. Perhaps Pwyll had made the error of assuming he was battling a mindless monster, that Hagfan’s very appearance was a deceit. Pwyll sat down against a rock. The effort of climbing down with the weight of the sword, with the concentration he had needed to find his way, Pwyll realised he needed to gather himself and plan his next move. Where was Hagfan?

Pwyll could hear bird song, sounding even over the great sound of the river. The low swelling of the main currents of the river mixed with the lighter babble of the water nearer the bank and all of it fused with the voices of far-off calling geese and chattering thrushes within the water bank bushes. Listening to it all, he almost missed the sound of dipping oars as the boat neared.

Hagfan only had to leap out in the shallows alongside. Pwyll watched as the boat, manned by at least thirty oarsmen fought against the flow of the river. Even the giant of a warrior, Hagfan, stood for a few moments to find his feet beneath the current, before slowly wading towards the shore.

Hagfan was already holding his axe and beginning to waive it in great slices of air, and Pwyll could not hear what he was roaring over the birdsong, over the voice of the river itself. He could only see that great gaping mouth in the forest of hair.