Long, long ago there were two kings living in Britain by the name of Nyniaw and Peibiaw, and it would be hard to say which of them was the vainer and more arrogant. One day they were walking together across a field which belonged to Nyniaw when Nyniaw said, as modestly as ever: "I cannot think there is a bigger or a smoother field in the world than this field of mine. Did you ever see its equal, Peibiaw?"

"It is easy to see that you are no judge of fields," replied Peibiaw. "I have at least ten better at home. You had better come and see them some time." "Then my herds and flocks," pursued Nyniaw, pointing first here, then there, then everywhere. "Tell the truth - did you in all your life see herds and flocks so numerous and fine?" "Often," said his rival. "And they all belong to me." "I suspect you are a boaster," Nyniaw reproved him, and for a while they walked on in silence. Then: "Meet me here tonight," he invited, as sly and satisfiend as a sun-washed cat, "and I shall show you such a field as will make your mouth run and your eyes water."

So they met that night in the same place, with the moon at the full and a fleece of stars in the heavens. "Look upwards," says Nyniaw, "to my most beautiful and extensive field." Peibiaw looked up, and, "Where is it?" he asked? "The whole firmament of heaven," replied Nyniaw, as far as eye can reach or vision pierce, that is my wide field. Deny it," he added, "if you dare!" "Why should I deny it?" asked Peibiaw, "when I see my countless herds and flocks grazing free of cost throughout its confines?" Nyniaw looked up, and, "where are they?" he asked. "The hosts and the armies and the galaxies of stars," replied Peibiaw, "are my milk white cattle and my wool-white sheep. And never," he added, "had herds and flocks so wonderous a shepherdess as they."

"Who is she?" demanded Nyniaw. "She is the moon, bland and golden, to show them where the pasture holds most nurture." "They shall not graze in my pasture!" threatened Nyniaw. "Believe me, they shall," replied Peibiaw. "They shall not" raved the one. "They shall!" roared the other. "No," bellowed Nyniaw. "Yes," bawled Peibiaw. "Over my dead body," vowed the one, and , "Over your dead body," promised the other, and from shouts they came to menaces, and from menaces to brawling, and from brawling to cuffs, and from cuffs to a mustering, and from a mustering to skirmishes, and from skirmishes to war, till their kingdoms were laid waste and their armies slain, all over the grazing rights to heaven.

News of their folly was brought to Rhitta the Giant, who at that time was king of North Wales. "O limitless folly of men," cried the scandalised Rhitta, "to fight over such nonsense as that! Surely everyone knows that those grazing rights are mine." He at once assemled an army and marched against the contending remnants of the lesser armies and imposed peace upon them, and Nyniaw and Peibiaw he vanquished utterly, and to mark his disapproval of their presumption and frenzy he had their beards removed in a piece and stitched together as a cap for his head, when he went walking in the fields at night to number his sheep in the heavens.

There the matter might have ended, had not the other sovereigns who made up the twenty-eight kings of Britain taken offence at so great an insult to the two disbearded kings. "Why," they said, "if we once permit this sort of thing, not a beard will be safe throughout the Island." So they too assembled armies till their men stood thicker than wheat in a favoured croft, and the wind in their whiskers was like the sighing of summer cornfields. But it was all to no avail, for when Rhitta the Giant fell upon them he was like the first gale of autumn, stripping them of glory and strewing them over the plain. "Why," said Rhitta, after an upward glance, "this looks like another extensive field of mine" and he at once removed the beards from the twenty-six presumptuous kings, and had them stitched together as a cape for his shoulders, when he went wandering in the fields at night to count his cows in the heavens.

There it might well have rested, had not the sovereigns of the neighbouring countries heard tell of the disgrace inflicted on the disbearded kings of Britain. "Why," they said, "unless we do something to stop him, this Rhitta will not leave a beard alive from one land's end to another. Besides," the wiser among them added, "he is quite mad, and is infringing our grazing rights in the heavens." So they too assembled armies till their men stood thicker than trees in a forest, and the wind in their whiskers was like the sighing of autumn branches. But it was all to no avail, for when Rhitta fell upon them he was like the first gale of winter, ripping and rending them, and scattering them wide over the ground. "Why," said Rhitta, after an inward glance, "we have here yet another immense extensive field of mine," and he at once removed the beards from the vanquished kings. "These," he added, pointing to the cold-chinned monarches, "were the animals that grazed my earth bound pastures, and it is high time that they were driven out." So driven out they were, with many whack and a thwack, and Rhitta took up all the beards and had them stitched together as a mantle that extended from his head to his heels, with a good overlap in front, and a high collar to spare, to keep him warm whenever he went ambling in the fields at night to oversee his golden shepherdess.

This would certainly have marked the end of the matter, had not Rhitta heard a little later that there was a new young king in the south whose name was Arthur. By now he was so keen a beard-collector that he felt he would not know a moment's peace till he had Arthur's beard too. Also, he had been studying the design of his mantle, and it seemed to him that it needed one further patch on the hem to make it perfect. "Moreover," he told himself, "it will be a kindness to the young man. If he keeps his beard, who knows but he may grow arrogant as Nyniaw or scatterbrained as Peibiaw? It is the least I can do, to preserve him from that."

That was how it came about one day that as Arthur was washing his hands after killing a red-eyed giant in Cornwall, a messenger walked before him from Rhitta in north Wales and asked him for his beard, explaining that his master had need of it to patch his cloak, and demanding further that he should renounce all claim to the heavenly fields and the herds in the firmament. For a while, Arthur went on washing his hands. Then, "for the second demand," he said mildly, "I may well promise that. As for the first, you will observe that my beard is still young. You had better tell your master to seek a beard elsewhere."

"Perhaps he would like mine," said Cei, jutting out a chin whose beard was like a broad black spade. "Or mine," echoed Bedwyr, whose beard was thick as reeds and sharp as daggers. "Or mine," suggested Uchdryd Cross-Beard, who could throw the bristling red beard he had on him across fifty rafters which were in Arthur's hall. "But if," continued Arthur, "your master is ill-pleased with my answer, I engage myself to find him just the beard to complete his mantle. Yet my advice to him is to rest content with what he has.

This answer of his was carried to Rhitta in north Wales, who at once assembled an army and marched south clad in this mantle of beards. As he drew near to Arthur's court he saw a flashing as of heaven's lightning along the horizon before him. "What is that light," he asked his messenger. "Arthur's warriors are advancing their spears for battle." Then he heard a roar as of heaven's thunder rolling through the welkin. "What is that roaring noise?" he asked. "Arthur's foot and his horse are greeting their lord." Then he and his host were enfolded in such an odour of sweetness that wild swarms would grow tame at it and the tame swarms swoon in their hives. "What is that sweetness?" he asked. "Arthur's men drink mead to their lord before battle, and the virtue of that mead is that one man's stroke is as the stroke of nine, and there is no counter-stroke to oppose it." "We must proceed cannily, it is clear," replied Rhitta. "But I will have his beard just the same."

Messengers passed between the two kings, and they met on a level plain before the armies, each with a small retinue about him. "It is as you see," began Arthur mildly, "my beard is young in growth and would not cover the worn place I see on your mantle. But I think I know a beard that would serve your turn, king." "Whose is that?" asked Rhitta. "Your own," said Arthur; and the savage laughter from his chosen warriors silenced the shouts of dismay from Rhitta's twelve men. "Will you yield or fight?" asked Arthur.

His leaders of battle soared out like pillars of flame before the host, their drawn swords scorching the air, and their black chargers like thunderclouds over the plain. Where their hooves met turf the earth was a steaming cauldron; where they met flint no man's eyes might endure the fire of it. "Lord," said Rhitta's men, "there is only one plan for us. You must yield." Then Arthur's hosts trod forward, and the sound of their tread was as the sound of the ninth wave when the sea crashed on the land and destroyed the Three Drowned Kingdoms.

"I see you tremble," said Arthur of Rhitta's men. "Not with fear, lord," was their hurried answer, "but the earth is so shaken with your hosts' tread that it is hard for a man to stand steady." And because Rhitta could see that his men had no use of their legs and no strength in their arms, he yielded, and Cadw of Pictland, who had shaved many a giant before, took a flaying knife with a white-horn handle and flayed off his beard in the sight of both armies. "And now, said Arthur, "take an awl and sinew, king, and stitch your beard to the other beards, so that your former glory may become your shame, and your presumption your disgrace."

This Rhitta did, and the mantle was again draped about him. And as he turned to depart, Arthur asked: "Whose is the whole wide firmament of heaven, king?" "Nyniaw's, for all I care," growled Rhitta the Giant. "And whose are the herds of the fixed and wandering stars?" "Peibiaw's, for all I care," growled Rhitta the Giant. "And who is your lord, king?" "The Emperor Arthur," growled Rhitta. "And it had been better for me had you been my lord long ago."

With that much of wisdom he returned to his own country, and his men dispersed each to his own place. He wore his mantle to the end of his days, as the badge of his servitude to Arthur, with his own beard on the lowest hem of it. This beard had been thick and yellow-white with black flecks like a lynx skin, and out of it grew a lasting proverb. For when a man looks out of doors on a black night of winter and sees the snow falling heavily in the darkness, if any one inside should ask him what of the weather, he will answer that it is "as thick as Rhitta's beard." And if any one should then ask: "Who might Rhitta be?" this is the tale to tell them, and this is the way to tell it.