Gwythyr’s Ants

In How Culhwch Won Olwen there is an enigmatic episode wherein Gwythyr ap Greidol is ‘travelling over a mountain’ and hears ‘weeping and woeful wailing’ ‘terrible to hear’. He rushes towards the sound, unsheaths his sword and cuts off an anthill at ground level, thus saving the ants from a fire. In return they bring him the ‘nine hestors of flax seed’ previously sown into tilled red soil that has not grown to be resown in newly ploughed land to make a ‘white veil’ for Olwen at Culhwch’s wedding feast. This is one of the impossible tasks assigned to Culhwch by Ysbaddaden Bencawr, Olwen’s father. The ants complete the task, the lame ant bringing the last seed just in time.

Recently one of my guides suggested I should look deeper into this story. So, I journeyed on it, and this is what came as an origin tale for Gwythyr’s ants.

During the time of Arthur Gwythyr ap Greidol joined forces with the warlord against the giants, the witches, the monsters of Annwn, their rival, Gwyn ap Nudd.

At the height of summer he was leading his warriors through the mountains of the north, driving the giants from their mountain fortresses, from their seats in the craggy heights where they liked to look up to their kindred, the stars.

“There,” he pointed to a crag in the distance, even in summer circled by mist.

“No,” his men shook their heads, “that belongs not to a giant but the Grey King.”

“Take it,” Gwythyr commanded, “build a new fortress on its summit in my name.” Their battle-leader left them for another task of marauding with Arthur.

As they approached a Spectre-in-the-mist appeared and warned them, “If you wish to remain men turn your back on this summit and return to your homes.”

“No way.” “This mountaintop will be ours.” “You’re nothing but a trick of the mist.”

As Gwythyr’s warriors battled against the spectre and his misty minions they noticed not their armour becoming carapaces moulded to their skin, their two legs becoming six, their spears becoming antennae. “We won! We won!”

They build their fortress on the summit thinking they were carrying great boughs when really they were building from twigs, leaves, pine needles.

When Gwythyr returned he found not a new fortress but an ant hill.

“Accursed ants!” he raised his flaming sword to destroy the useless thing.

“No, no,” shrieked his warriors, “can’t you see it is us – your loyal soldiers?”

When Gwythyr looked closer at their red-brown armoured bodies and their spear-like antennae he saw they still had the faces and intelligence of men.

“We won the battle.” “We built our fort.” “Only one man was lamed.”

As Gwythyr cursed the mist rolled in and he heard the laughter of the Grey King.