Neither made to answer him, but his words provoked a response nonetheless, for no sooner had he spoken than the sound of a very great thunder echoed through the mysterious fortress and the mist rose up thick and dark. When it cleared, Rhiannon, Pryderi, the golden bowl and indeed the fortress itself were gone and not to be seen any more.
'Woe to me,' cried Manawyddan when he saw what had happened. 'I am all alone now with neither companions nor even dogs for company. Lieu knows I do not deserve such a fate as this. What shall I do?'
There was nothing to be done but go on with his life as best he could. He fished the streams and caught wild game, and began to till the soil, using a few grains of wheat he had in his pocket. The wheat flourished and in time he had enough to sow an entire field, and then another, and another. Great the wonder of it, for the wheat was the finest the world had ever seen!
Manawyddan bided his time and waited out the seasons until at last the wheat was so ripe he could almost taste the bread he would make. So, looking at his wonderful crop, he said to himself, 'I am a fool if I do not reap this tomorrow.'
He returned to his bothy to sharpen his wheat knife. The next morning when he came in the grey dawn to harvest his long-awaited crop, he found only naked stalks standing in the field. Each stalk had been snapped off where the ear joins to the stem and the grain carried off, leaving only stubble behind.
Much distressed, Manawyddan ran to the next field and saw that all was as it should be. He examined the grain, which had ripened nicely. 'I am a fool if I do not reap this field tomorrow,' he said to himself.
He slept lightly that night and awoke with the break of day to reap his grain. Upon coming to the field, he saw that, as before, only naked stalks remained. The grain had been carried off. 'Alas!' he cried. 'What enemy is doing this to me? Lieu knows he is completing my downfall. If this keeps on I will be destroyed and all the land with me!'
With that Manawyddan hastened to his last remaining field. And behold, it was ripe and ready to be harvested. 'I am a fool if I do not reap this field tomorrow,' he said to himself, 'more, I will be a dead fool, for this is my last hope.'
And he sat down right where he was, intending to watch through the night and so catch the enemy that was destroying him. Manawyddan watched, and towards midnight what must have been the greatest uproar in the world reached his ears. He looked and saw the greatest host of mice ever assembled, so large a host he could scarce believe his eyes.
Before he could move the mice had fallen upon the field, each one scaling a stalk and nipping off the ear and carrying off the grain in its mouth, leaving only a naked stalk behind. Manawyddan rushed to the rescue of his field, but the mice might have been midges for all he could catch them.
One mouse, however, was heavier than all the others and could not move so quickly. Manawyddan pounced upon it and put it in his glove. He tied the opening with string and took the mouse prisoner back to his bothy. 'Well, as I would hang the thief that has ruined me,' he said to the mouse, 'Lieu help me, I will hang you.'
The next morning Manawyddan went out to the mound where this whole misadventure had begun, taking the mouse in the glove. And there he set two forked sticks upright in the ground at the highest part of the mound.
All at once a man appeared, riding by the foot of the mound on a thin-shanked horse. The man's clothes were worse than rags and he appeared a beggar. 'Lord, good day to you,' the beggarman called out.
Manawyddan turned to observe him. 'Lieu be good to you,' he replied. 'These past seven years I have seen not one man in all my kingdom, save yourself this very moment.'
'Well, I am only passing through these desolate lands,' the beggar told him. 'If it please you, lord, what work are you about?'
'I am executing a thief.'
'What son of thief? The creature I see in your hand looks very like a mouse to me. It is scarcely fitting for a man of your exalted position to touch an animal like that. Surely, you will let it go.'
'Between you and me and Lieu, I will not!' said Mana-wyddan hotly. This mouse, and his brothers, have brought about my destruction. I mean to execute punishment upon it before I starve to death, and the judgement is hanging.'
The beggar went on his way and Manawyddan set about fixing a stick for the crossbeam between two forks. He had done this when a voice hailed him from below the mound. 'Good day to you, lord!'
'Lieu smite' me if this is not becoming a busy place,' muttered Manawyddan to himself. He looked around and saw a fine noblewoman sitting on a grey palfrey at the foot of the mound.
'Good day to you, lady,' he called back to her. 'What brings you here?'
'I was only riding by when I saw you toiling up here. What work are you about?' she asked full politely.
'I am hanging a thief,' explained Manawyddan, 'if that is anything to you.'
'Indeed, it is nothing to me,' said the lady, 'but the thief appears to be a mouse. Still, I should say punish it by all means were it not so demeaning to a man of your obvious rank and dignity to hold commerce with such a low creature.'
'What would you have me do?' asked Manawyddan suspiciously.
'Rather than see you disgrace yourself further, I will give you a coin of gold to let it go.' She smiled winsomely as she said this and Manawyddan was almost persuaded.
'You speak well for this sorry mouse, but I am determined to end the life of the creature that has ended mine.'
'Very well, lord,' replied the lady haughtily, 'do as you wish.'
Manawyddan returned to his grim task, and taking the string from the glove, he tied one end around the mouse's neck. And as he drew the creature up to the crossbeam, there came a shout from the foot of the mound. 'Not a freckle on a face have I seen in seven years to this day, and now I am accosted at every turn,' he grumbled.
So saying, he turned around to meet an Archdruid with a score of ovates as retinue ranged behind him. 'Lieu give you good day,' said the Archdruid. 'What sort of work is my lord about?'
'If you must know, I am hanging a thief which has brought about my destruction,' replied Manawyddan.
'Forgive me, but you must be a fragile man indeed. For that appears to be a mouse in your hand.'
'It is a thief and destroyer, nonetheless,' snapped Manawyddan. 'Not that I should have to explain myself to you.'
'I require no explanation,' the Archdruid told him. 'But it grieves me full well to see a man of your obvious renown exacting punishment on a helpless creature.'
'Helpless is it? Where were you when this mouse and its myriad companions were devastating my fields and bringing about my demise?'
'As you are a reasonable man,' said the Archdruid, 'allow me to redeem the worthless creature. I will give you seven gold pieces to let it go.'
Manawyddan shook his head firmly. 'That will not do. I will not sell the mouse for any amount of gold.'
'Still, it is not seemly for a man of your rank to kill mice in this way,' countered the Archdruid. 'Therefore, let me give you seventy pieces of gold.'
'Shame on me if I sell it for twice that amount of gold!'
The Archdruid would not be put off. 'Nevertheless, good lord, I will not see you defile yourself by harming that animal. I will give you a hundred horses and a hundred men and a hundred fortresses.'
'I was lord of thousands,' replied Manawyddan. 'How should I take less than what I had?'
'As you will not accept that,' the Archdruid said, 'please name your price that I may meet it.'
'Well, there is a thing which might persuade me.'
'Name it and it is yours.'
'I wish the release of Rhiannon and Pryderi.'
'You shall have that,' promised the Archdruid.
'Between me and Lieu, that is not all.'
'What else then?'
'I wish the removal of the spell of enchantment from the realm of Dyfed and all my holdings.'
'You shall have that as well, only release the mouse unharmed.'
Manawyddan nodded slowly and looked into
his hand. That I will do, only first I will know what this mouse is to you.'
The Archdruid sighed. 'Very well, you have the better of me. She is my wife – otherwise I would not ransom her.'
'Your wife!' cried Manawyddan. 'Am I to believe such a thing?'
'Believe it, lord, for it is true. I am the one who laid the enchantment upon your lands.'
'Who are you that you should seek my destruction?"
'I am Hen Dallpen, Chief of Druids in the Island of the Mighty,' replied the Archdruid. 'I acted against you out of revenge.'
'How so? What have I ever done to you?' For indeed, Manawyddan could think of nothing he had ever done to anger any man, be he priest or druid.
'You took the kingship of Bran the Blessed, and in this you did not obtain the blessing of the Learned Brotherhood. Therefore, I took it upon myself to enchant your kingdom, which I did.'
'I will say you did,' grumbled Manawyddan unhappily. 'What of my fields?'
'When some of those wlio follow me learned of the wheat, they begged me to turn them into mice in order that they might destroy your fields. The third night my own wife went with them, and she was heavy with child – although if she had not been so, you would not have caught her. But since she was and you did, I will give you Rhiannon and Pryderi and lift the spell from Dyfed and all your lands.' The Archdruid finished by saying, 'Now I have told you all, please release my wife.'
Manawyddan glared at the Chief Druid, 'I am a fool if I let her go now.'
'What else do you wish?' sighed the Archdruid. 'Tell me and let there be an end to this matter between us.'
'I wish that once the enchantment has been removed from the land there will never be another spell cast.'
– 'You have my most solemn promise. Now will you let the mouse go?'
'Not yet,' stated Manawyddan firmly.
The Archdruid sighed. 'Are we to be at this all day? What else do you require?'
'One thing else,' replied Manawyddan. 'I require that no revenge be taken because of what has happened here – neither on Rhiannon, or Pryderi, or my lands, or people, or possessions, or the creatures under my care.' He looked squarely in the Archdruid's eyes. 'Or upon myself.'
'A cunning thought, Lieu knows. For indeed, had you not struck on that at last, you would have suffered far worse than anything you have suffered until now and all harm would be on your own head.'
Manawyddan shrugged. 'A man must protect himself however he can.'
'Now release my wife.'
'That I will not do until I see Rhiannon and Pryderi coming towards me with glad greetings.'
'Then look if you will,' said the Archdruid wearily. "They are coming even now.'
Pryderi and Rhiannon appeared; Manawyddan hurried to meet them and they greeted him gladly and began to speak of what had happened to them all.
'I have done all you asked, and more than I would have done had you not asked,' implored the Archdruid. 'Do the one thing I have asked and release my wife.'
'Gladly,' replied Manawyddan. And he opened his hand and the mouse ran free.
The Archdruid scooped it up and whispered some words in the ancient secret tongue into the mouse's ear, and instantly the mouse began to change back into a comely woman whose belly swelled with the child she was carrying.
Manawyddan looked around the land and saw that every house and holding was back where it should be, complete with herds and flocks. And all the people were back where they should be, so that the land was inhabited as once before. Indeed, it was as if nothing had changed at all.
Only Manawyddan knew differently.
Here ends the Mabinogi of Manawyddan, my friend Wolf. Yes, it is a sad story in many of its parts. But I think you will agree that its end redeems.
What is that you say? Yes, there is more to it than fust appears. How astute you are, O Wise Wolf. Of course, there is always more than meets the eye, or ear. This tale conceals a secret at its heart.
He that has ears to hear, let him hear!
THREE
The ravens croak at me from the treetops. They speak rudely; no respecters of persons, they say, 'Why do you not die, Son of Dust? Why do you cheat us of our meat?'
I am a king! How dare you affront me! How dare you slander me with insinuations!
Listen, Wolf friend, there is something I must tell you… Oh, but I cannot… I cannot! Forgive me. Please, you must forgive me, I cannot tell it.
Well, I am in misery. The scant trickle of my little spring as it drips from the rock is as my very life, my blood. Hear the bitter wind weeping among the cruel rock crags. Hear how it moans. Sometimes soft and low, sometimes as if to tear at the roots of the world. Sometimes a sigh or a thin, crooning song from the throat of a toothless hag.
I wander without sense or purpose: as if the aimless movement of my limbs is atonement for sins too loathsome to utter, as if in the slow, purposeless shuffling of one foot after the other I will find some release. Ha! There is no release!
Death, you have claimed all the others, why do you not claim me?
I shout. I rave. I cry into the depths of darkness and my voice falls into a pit of silence. There is no answer. It is the unknowing silence of the grave.
It is the unyielding silence of despair, black and eternal.
I was a king. I am a king. This rock I squat upon is all that is left to me; it is all my realm. Once better lands were mine. Away in the wealthy southland I raised my throne and Dyfed nourished. Maelwys and I were kings together, after the custom of the proud Cymry of old.
All the world turns back, turns back, turns again to the old ways, the forgotten yet familiar ways. In the old ways there is certainty and solace, there is the empty form of comfort. But there is no peace.
Hear then if you will, friend Wolf, the story of a man.
There was a feast following that first victory. How my sword did shine! Oh, it was a beautiful thing. Perhaps, I valued it too much. Perhaps, I tried too hard, attempted too much. But tell me, my Lord Jesu, whoever has attempted more?
We burned the Irish warboats, throwing hi the corpses of the raiders before firing them and setting them adrift on the outrunning tide. The red flames danced and the black smoke rose to heaven and our hearts beat for joy. Maridunum was saved that day, suffering little more than a few dwellings lost and a few roofs fired. Ten of our people were killed – six of those were warriors.
Still, we had survived, and before the summer was out the first of Maelwys' new warband began arriving. We raised eighty that year. And sixty the next – Demetae and Silures; the dual clans of Dyfed produced fierce warriors.
Great Light, I see them: astride their tough ponies, oxhide shields slung over their shoulders, spearpoints burnished sharp, the bold checked cloaks fluttering from their shoulders, tores and armbands gleaming, their hair braided and bound like their horses' tails, or free-flying under their war caps, their eyes dark and hard as Cymry slate under smooth brows, and firm the set of their jaws. It was joy itself to lead such men.
We rode the circuit together, the ring of hillforts guarding our lands. And we erected timber platforms on the coastal hills for beacon fires. These were manned from the first summer on, until winter made an end of the warring season. And yes, we were attacked again and yet again – the barbarians knew that Maximus had gone, and the cream of the British troops with hun – but we were never taken by surprise.
This was a good time for Maridunum. The weather was a boon companion to the land: days full of clear skies and sunlight, and an evening's rain to quench the thirsting root. All things flourished and bore fruit. Despite constant harrassment of raiders, our herds and flocks increased; our people thrived and were content.
That first autumn of my kingship – when I was certain my place was established – I spoke openly of my love for Ganieda to my mother and Maelwys. It was decided that a messenger should be sent to take word to Custennin of my intentions. We chose six of our company and sent them north to Goddeu with gifts and letters, b
oth for the lord, and for my bride. I would have gone myself, but it is not done that way; and besides, I was needed in Maridunum.
The day the messengers rode out was a crisp, golden day in autumn, just after Samhain. The warmth of summer had lapsed, and nights could be cold, but still the days were fair, with the fire-tint brightening summer's greens. I stood in the road and watched them out of sight, thinking that only the winter, a few grey, wet months, a little space of darkness and cold, separated me from my light, my Ganieda.
Only one winter. Then I, too, would ride out to fetch my bride from her father's hearth and bring her home.
And it was much like I imagined it to be.
I spent a restless winter, riding with the hunting bands when I could, watching clouded skies shift over the land as they brought rain and a little snow now and then. I fussed with Maelwys' hounds; bathed in the heated bath; played chess with Charis, losing more often than winning; strummed my harp and sang in the hall of an evening; and generally haunted the villa like the restless shade I was – all the time waiting for the days to shorten and trees to bud.
'Be at ease, Merlin, you are as tense as a cat about to pounce,' Charis told me one night. It was after mid-winter, just after the Christ Mass, and we were at the nightly game of chess. She always played, with either Maelwys or me as her partner. 'You cannot make the days fly faster than they will.'
That I know only too well,' I replied. 'If it had been for hoping, spring would have been with us long since.'
'You are so eager, my soul.' She looked at me over the chessboard, and I caught a hint of sadness in her voice and in her glance.
'What is it, Mother?'
Charis smiled and moved a gamepiece on the board. 'I was only thinking.'
'Yes?'
'These years have themselves flown, it seems to me. Was it so long ago that Taliesin came with his harp to my father's house?' She lifted a hand to my cheek. 'You are very like him, Merlin. Your father would be proud to see he has sired such a noble son.' She lowered her hand and pushed a gamepiece with a fingertip, then sighed. 'My work is nearly finished.'
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