‘And Matholwch is giving the kingship of Ireland to Gwern son of Matholwch, your nephew, your sister’s son, and will invest him in your presence, to make up for the injustice and injury that was done to Branwen. And make provision for Matholwch wherever you like, either here or in the Island of the Mighty.’
‘Well,’ said Bendigeidfran, ‘if I myself cannot have the kingship, perhaps I should take advice regarding your message. But until a better response comes, you will get no answer from me.’
‘Very well,’ they said, ‘we will bring you the best response we can get; wait for our message.’
‘I will if you return quickly,’ he said.
The messengers set off and went to Matholwch.
‘Lord,’ they said, ‘prepare a better response for Bendigeidfran. He would not listen at all to the one we took him.’
‘My men,’ said Matholwch, ‘what is your advice?’
‘Lord,’ they said, ‘there is only one thing to do. He has never been able to fit inside a house,’ they said. ‘Build a house in his honour, so that there is room for him and the men of the Island of the Mighty in one half of the house, and for you and your troops in the other. And place your kingship at his disposal, and pay homage to him. And because of the honour in building the house (for he has never had one into which he could fit) he will make peace with you.’
The messengers took the offer to Bendigeidfran; and he took advice. He decided to accept; and that was all done on Branwen’s advice because she feared that the country would be laid waste.
The terms of peace were arranged, and the house was built, large and spacious. But the Irish had a cunning plan. They placed a peg on either side of each column of the one hundred columns in the house, and hung a hide bag on each peg with an armed man in each one of them.* Efnysien entered the house ahead of the troops of the Island of the Mighty, and cast fierce, ruthless glances around the house. He caught sight of the hide bags along the pillars.
‘What is in this bag?’ he said to one of the Irishmen.
‘Flour, friend,’ he answered.
Efnysien prodded the bag until he found the man’s head, and he squeezed the head until he could feel his fingers sinking into the brain through the bone. He left that one, and put his hand on another bag and asked, ‘What have we here?’
‘Flour, friend,’ said the Irishman. Efnysien played the same game with each of them, so that not a man was left alive of the entire two hundred, apart from one. And he came to that one, and asked, ‘What have we here?’
‘Flour, friend,’ said the Irishman. Efnysien prodded the bag until he found the man’s head, and just as he had squeezed the heads of the others so he squeezed this one. He could feel armour on the head of this one. He did not let him go until he had killed him. And then he sang an englyn:
‘There is in this bag a different kind of flour,
Champions, warriors, attackers in battle,
Against fighters, prepared for combat.’*
Then the troops entered the house. The men of the Island of Ireland entered the house on the one side, and the men of the Island of the Mighty on the other. As soon as they sat down they were reconciled, and the boy was invested with the kingship.
Then, when peace had been made, Bendigeidfran called the boy to him. The boy went from Bendigeidfran to Manawydan, and everyone who saw him loved him. From Manawydan, Nysien son of Euroswydd called the boy to him. The boy went to him graciously.
‘Why does my nephew, my sister’s son, not come to me?’ said Efnysien. ‘Even if he were not king of Ireland, I would still like to make friends with the boy.’
‘Let him go, gladly,’ said Bendigeidfran. The boy went to him cheerfully.
‘I confess to God,’ said Efnysien to himself, ‘the outrage I shall now commit is one the household will never expect.’ And he gets up, and takes the boy by the feet, and immediately, before anyone in the house can lay a hand on him, he hurls the boy head-first into the fire. When Branwen sees her son burning in the fire she tries to jump into the fire from where she is sitting between her two brothers. But Bendigeidfran seizes her with one hand, and seizes his shield with the other. Then everyone in the house leaps up. And that was the greatest uproar ever by a crowd in one house, as each one took up arms. Then Morddwyd Tyllion said, ‘Hounds of Gwern, beware of Morddwyd Tyllion.’* As each went for his weapons, Bendigeidfran held Branwen between his shield and his shoulder.
The Irish began to kindle a fire under the Cauldron of Rebirth. Then they threw the corpses into the cauldron until it was full, and they would get up the next morning fighting as well as before except that they could not talk. When Efnysien saw the corpses, and no room anywhere for the men of the Island of the Mighty, he said to himself, ‘Oh God,’ he said, ‘woe is me that I am the cause of this mountain of the men of the Island of Mighty; and shame on me,’ he said, ‘unless I try to save them from this.’
He creeps in among the corpses of the Irish, and two bare-backed Irishmen come up to him and throw him into the cauldron, as if he were an Irishman. He stretches himself out in the cauldron so that the cauldron breaks into four pieces, and his own heart breaks too. And because of that, such victory as there was went to the men of the Island of the Mighty. There was no real victory except that seven men escaped, and Bendigeidfran was wounded in the foot with a poisoned spear. The seven men who escaped were Pryderi,* Manawydan, Glifiau son of Taran, Taliesin, Ynog, Gruddieu son of Muriel, and Heilyn son of Gwyn Hen.
Then Bendigeidfran ordered his head to be cut off.* ‘And take my head,’ he said, ‘and carry it to the Gwynfryn in London, and bury it with its face towards France. And it will take you a long time; you will feast in Harlech for seven years, with the birds of Rhiannon* singing to you. And you will find the head to be as good company as it ever was when it was on me. And you will stay for eighty years in Gwales in Penfro.* And so long as you do not open the door towards Aber Henfelen,* facing Cornwall, you can remain there and the head will not decay. But as soon as you open that door you can stay no longer. Make for London to bury the head. And now set off across the sea.’
Then his head was cut off, and they set out across the sea with the head, those seven men* and Branwen as the eighth. They came ashore at Aber Alaw in Talebolion. And then they sat down and rested. She looked at Ireland and at the Island of the Mighty, what she could see of them.
‘Oh son of God,’ she said, ‘woe that I was ever born. Two good islands have been laid waste because of me!’ She gives a mighty sigh, and with that her heart breaks. And they make a four-sided grave for her* and bury her there on the banks of the Alaw.
Then the seven men journeyed towards Harlech carrying the head. As they were travelling they met a company of men and women.
‘Do you have any news?’ said Manawydan.
‘No,’ they said, ‘except that Caswallon son of Beli* has overrun the Island of the Mighty and is crowned king in London!’
‘What happened to Caradog son of Brân and the seven men who were left with him on this Island?’ they said.
‘Caswallon attacked them and six men were killed, and Caradog’s heart broke from bewilderment at seeing the sword kill his men and not knowing who killed them. Caswallon had put on a magic cloak so that no one could see him killing the men—they could only see the sword. Caswallon did not want to kill Caradog—he was his nephew, his cousin’s son. (And he was one of the Three People who Broke their Hearts from Sorrow.)* Pendaran Dyfed, who was a young lad with the seven men, escaped to the woods,’ they said.
Then they went to Harlech, and sat down and were regaled with food and drink. As soon as they began to eat and drink, three birds came and began to sing them a song, and all the songs they had heard before were harsh compared to that one. They had to gaze far out over the sea to catch sight of the birds, yet their song was as clear as if the birds were there with them. And they feasted for seven years.
At the end of the seventh year they set out for Gwales in Penfro. There was
a pleasant royal dwelling for them there, above the sea, and there was a large hall, and they went to the hall. They could see two doors open; the third door was closed, the one facing Cornwall.
‘See over there,’ said Manawydan, ‘the door we must not open.’ That night they stayed there contented and lacking nothing. And of all the sorrow they had themselves seen and suffered, they remembered none of it nor of any grief in the world. And there they spent eighty years so that they were not aware of ever having spent a more pleasurable or more delightful time. It was no more unpleasant than when they first arrived, nor could anyone tell by looking at the other that he had aged in that time. Having the head there was no more unpleasant than when Bendigeidfran had been alive with them.* Because of those eighty years, this was called The Assembly of the Noble Head. (The one which went to Ireland was The Assembly of Branwen and Matholwch.)
One day Heilyn son of Gwyn said, ‘Shame on my beard* unless I open the door to find out if what they say about it is true.’ He opened the door, and looked at Cornwall, and at Aber Henfelen. And when he looked, every loss they had ever suffered, and every kinsman and companion they had lost, and every ill that had befallen them was as clear as if they had encountered it in that very place; and most of all concerning their lord. And from that moment they could not rest but made for London with the head. Although the road was long, they came at last to London and buried the head on the Gwynfryn. And that was one of the Three Fortunate Concealments when it was concealed, and one of the Three Unfortunate Disclosures* when it was disclosed; for no oppression would ever come across the sea to this island while the head was in that hiding-place. And that is how the story goes: their tale is called ‘The Men who Set Out from Ireland’.
In Ireland no one was left alive except for five pregnant women in a cave in the wilds of Ireland. Those five women, at exactly the same time, gave birth to five sons. And they reared those five sons until they were big lads, and their thoughts turned to women, and they lusted after them. Then each lad slept promiscuously with each other’s mother, and lived in the land and ruled it, and divided it between the five of them. And the five provinces of Ireland still reflect that division.* And they searched the country where battles had taken place, and found gold and silver until they grew wealthy.
And that is how this branch of the Mabinogi ends, concerning the Blow to Branwen which was one of the Three Unfortunate Blows* in this Island; and the Assembly of Brân, when the army of one hundred and fifty-four districts went to Ireland to avenge the Blow to Branwen; and the Feasting in Harlech for seven years; and the Singing of the Birds of Rhiannon, and the Assembly of the Head for eighty years.
The Third Branch of the Mabinogi
AFTER the seven men we spoke of above* had buried Bendigeidfran’s head on the Gwynfryn in London, with its face towards France, Manawydan looked at the town of London and at his companions, and heaved a great sigh, and immense sorrow and longing came over him.
‘Alas Almighty God, woe is me!’ he said. ‘I am the only one who has no place to go tonight.’
‘Lord,’ said Pryderi, ‘do not be so sad. Your cousin Caswallon* is king over the Island of the Mighty; and although he has done you wrong,’ he said, ‘you have never claimed land or territory—you are one of the Three Undemanding Chieftains.’*
‘Well,’ he said, ‘although that man may be my cousin, I am extremely sad to see anyone take the place of Bendigeidfran my brother, and I could not be happy under the same roof as him.’
‘Will you take any other advice?’ said Pryderi.
‘I need it,’ he said, ‘and what advice is that?’
‘The seven cantrefs of Dyfed* were left to me,’ said Pryderi, ‘and Rhiannon, my mother, lives there. I shall give her to you, together with the authority over those seven cantrefs. Although it may be the only realm you have, there are no better seven cantrefs. My wife is Cigfa, daughter of Gwyn Gloyw,’ he said. ‘And although the realm will be mine in name, let the benefits be yours and Rhiannon’s. And if you ever wanted a realm of your own, perhaps you could take that one.’
‘I have never wanted one, lord,’ he said, ‘but may God repay you your friendship.’
‘The best friendship I can give shall be yours, if you want it.’
‘I do, friend,’ he said. ‘May God repay you. And I shall go with you to visit Rhiannon and the realm.’
‘You are doing the right thing,’ he said. ‘I am sure that you have never heard a woman converse better than Rhiannon. When she was in her prime, there was no woman more beautiful, and even now you will not be disappointed with her looks.’
They set off. Although the road was long, they came at last to Dyfed. A feast had been prepared for them, ready for their arrival at Arberth, arranged by Rhiannon and Cigfa.
Then Manawydan and Rhiannon sat together and began to converse; and as a result of that conversation his head and heart grew tender towards her, and he was delighted that he had never seen a woman who was fairer or more beautiful than her.
‘Pryderi,’ he said, ‘I will agree to your proposal.’
‘What was that?’ said Rhiannon.
‘My lady,’ said Pryderi, ‘I have given you as a wife to Manawydan son of Llŷr.’
‘I will agree to that gladly,’ said Rhiannon.
‘I am glad, too,’ said Manawydan, ‘and may God repay the man who gives me such firm friendship.’ Before that feast finished, he slept with her.
‘Continue with what is left of the feast,’ said Pryderi, ‘and I will go to England to pay homage to Caswallon son of Beli.’
‘Lord,’ said Rhiannon, ‘Caswallon is in Kent, so you can continue with the feast and wait until he is closer.’
‘Then we will wait for him,’ said Pryderi. They finished the feast, and began to make a circuit of Dyfed where they hunted and enjoyed themselves.
As they wandered through the land they had never seen a place more pleasant to live in, nor better hunting ground, nor land more abundant in honey and fish. And during that time a friendship developed between the four of them, so that not one wished to be without the other, either day or night. In the meantime Pryderi went to pay homage to Caswallon in Oxford, where he was given a great welcome, and was thanked for paying homage. When he returned, Pryderi and Manawydan feasted and relaxed.
They began a feast at Arberth, for it was one of the chief courts, and every celebration originated from there. That night after the first sitting, while the servants were eating, they got up and went out, and the four of them proceeded to Gorsedd Arberth* and many people with them. As they were sitting there they heard a tumultuous noise, and with the intensity of the noise there fell a blanket of mist so that they could not see each other. And after the mist, everywhere became bright. When they looked to where they had once seen the flocks and herds and dwelling-places, they could now see nothing at all, neither building nor beast, neither smoke nor fire, neither man nor dwelling-place, only the court buildings empty, desolate, uninhabited, without people, without animals in them; their own companions had disappeared, with nothing known of their whereabouts—only the four of them remained.*
‘Dear Lord God,’ said Manawydan, ‘where is the court retinue and our company, apart from us? Let us go and look.’
They came to the hall; there was no one. They went to the chamber and sleeping-quarters; they could see no one. In the mead-hall and kitchen, there was nothing but desolation.
The four of them continued with the feast; and they hunted, and enjoyed themselves. Each one of them began to wander through the land and realm to see whether they could find either a building or dwelling-place; but nothing at all did they see, only wild animals. When they had finished their feast and provisions, they began to live on meat they hunted, and on fish and swarms of wild bees. And so they spent a year happily, and the second. But at last they grew tired.
‘God knows,’ said Manawydan, ‘we cannot live like this. Let us go to England, and seek a craft by which we may make our living.’
They set off for England, and came to Hereford, and took up saddlemaking. Manawydan began to shape pommels, and colour them with blue enamel in the way he had seen it done by Llasar Llaesgyngwyd, and he prepared blue enamel as the other man had done. And because of that it is still called ‘Llasar’s enamel’, because Llasar Llaesgyngwyd* made it. As long as that work could be had from Manawydan, neither pommels nor saddles were purchased from any other saddler throughout all Hereford. All the saddlers realized that they were losing their profits, and that nothing was being bought from them unless it could not be supplied by Manawydan. So they got together and agreed to kill him and his companion. But in the meantime the two of them received a warning, and discussed whether they should leave the town.
‘Between me and God,’ said Pryderi, ‘my advice is not to leave the town but rather to kill these churls.’
‘No,’ said Manawydan, ‘if we were to fight them, we would get a bad reputation and would be imprisoned. It would be better for us to go to another town and earn our living there.’ Then the four of them went to another city.
‘What craft shall we take on?’ said Pryderi.
‘We will make shields,’ said Manawydan.
‘Do we know anything about that?’ said Pryderi.
‘We will attempt it,’ he said.
They began making shields, shaping them after the design of good shields that they had seen, and colouring them as they had coloured the saddles. Their work flourished, so that no shield was being bought throughout the town unless it could not be supplied by them. They worked quickly and made vast quantities. And so they continued until their fellow townsmen became angry with them and agreed to try and kill them. But they received a warning and heard that the men were intent on putting them to death.
‘Pryderi,’ said Manawydan, ‘these men want to kill us.’
The Mabinogion (Oxford World's Classics) Page 8
