Gwilim the Smith
I spent about 7 years shoeing horses as a thing to seek my joy, and while I no longer work on horses I still enjoy blacksmithing. One thing about smiths is that there is a tendency to let the hammer strike the heel of the anvil between blows, not always, but from time to time, and people ask "why do you do that?" and here is one possible answer.
"Gwillim the Smith" MP3
Gavin Kent, aka Greg Tremblay
Feb 15 2021 gavinkent@gmail.com
It happened that in Cardiff town, there lived a smith of great skill. His fire worked to the glory of God, and the good works of Man, and never was there more skill in the hands of a mortal.
A blade forged by Gwilim would not soon blunt, and swung true to need. Axes from his anvil felled trees with such ease that woodmen could cut thrice the number in a day as before without tiring, and shears Gwilim forged could cut wool so evenly and close that one would believe a sheep had merely disrobed for bathing.
But all those were as nothing next to Gwilim’s shoeing of a horse.
A mount shod by Gwilim’s hand could cover twice the distance of any other, it’s stride sure and swift, and never did one lose a shoe. More, Gwilim’s work would hold a horse in true for a full score fortnights, and his shoes when set again looked for all the world as those new-made.
There were those jealous of Gwilim’s skills, and said they he must be in league with dark forces, and they spoke thus in mean ears. But twas not so. Gwilim was humble before God, and thanked Him for the skills to do great good in the world, and spoke besides of his three sons and their skills, and of the beauty of his bride.
But evil spoken, can evil beget; and so it came that one night Gwilim had a visitor.
It was late one eve before Whitsunday, and Gwilim in his forge worked by lamplight to complete several orders for the manor in Trowbridge, when without warning a figure stood across the anvil. His hammer paused, and Gwilim made his obedience to the figure and bade it welcome to his smithy. Robed in black was the form, near seven feet in height it stooped amid the beams of the forge, and bespoke Gwilim in a voice like oil on chill waters.
“Tis said, you are the greatest ferreor ever to walk this earth.”
To this Gwilim bowed his head and said only “What gifts God bestows, the honest man does not withhold.”
To this the stranger hissed, and from his robe arose a hand, clawed and wicked, which lifted hem to expose not feet, but hooves cloven and wicked beneath.
“Then work your skill, smith, for I would be shod to speed me on my way through this world of men.” Said the Devil, and Gwilim paled.
But he roused him, and said in the firmest voice he could manage “Nay, Lord of Lies, for the good of all do I work, and never for one such as ye.”
But the devil laughed, and said to this “You have spoken to many with pride of your sons, and yea your wife besides… and I think I shall take them from thee, and leave you with your “Gift” of heaven” and thereupon the Devil spat, and to this day that spot is dark.
Gwilim bowed his head, for he knew not how to answer, and in his turmoil he turned to the forge and began to heat and draw steel as for oxen shoes. The laughter of the devil rang in Gwilim’s ears, and his kin crawled and burned where he touched the evil flesh, to pare and trim and measure… and his head hung low as he began to form the shoes.
Now, as Gwilim worked, he prayed the Paster Noster with each blow of the hammer, as a rosary on steel, and begged God in his heart to let not his gift bring forth evil upon the world, and for his sons and his wife to stay remain safe that night.
So. Gwilil prayed. And SO, the shoes took shape. And SO, Gwilim struck the anvil lightly between blows, marking off the prayers he said to the Lord. SO, the Devil paced on his new-trimmed hoofs, and soon Gwilim was setting hot shoe to foot, and the smell of carrion and brimstone filled the smithy.
At last, Gwilim clinched the last nail, took the last swipe with his file, and polished the last wipe with his rag and stood well away from Old Nick. The Devil laughed, and capered on his goat hoofs, and kicked his heels and began to trot about the smithy. And his laughter grew, and Gwilim was ashamed.
But the devil’s laughter faded… and a look of great puzzlement came upon him.
For, once trotting, he could not cease, no nor slack his pace neither. Enraged, he lept to a canter, and proceeded to clatter round the smithy… but slow he could not. With a scream of rage that took the temper from five blades near to hand, the Devil leapt through the door, and galloped into the night.
Gwillim bent to his knees, and made he the sign of the cross, and was forgiven for his pride, and know that evil was not to be done through his hand. He went home safe to his sons and wife and held them tight to his breast.
And as to the Devil… it was thrice three score fortnights before he returned to his dark realm below, and the hearts of men those months were more true and pure… for Splitfoot was well shod indeed, and never could he cease to gallop until every last scrap of shoe had been worn away, and each nail fallen free. And from that day forward, Gwillim would tap the heel of his anvil between blows in praise of God and defiance of the Devil… and so does every smith that followed after him.
An as to the Devil… he never can hear the sound of a smith’s hammer, its doubled beat clear as churchbell, but he will go lame for three days… and so you will never find HIM in the workshop, of a smith.
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