‘We will not take that from these churls. Let us go for them and kill them.’
‘No,’ he replied, ‘Caswallon would get to hear of it, and his men, and we would be ruined. We will go to another town.’ They came to another town.
‘What craft shall we take up?’ said Manawydan.
‘Whatever craft you want of those we know,’ said Pryderi.
‘Not so,’ he said, ‘we will take up shoemaking. Shoemakers will not have the heart to fight us or forbid us.’
‘I know nothing about that craft,’ said Pryderi.
‘But I do,’ said Manawydan, ‘and I will teach you how to stitch. And we will not bother to tan the leather but buy it already prepared, and work with that.’
Then he began to buy the finest Cordovan leather* he could get in town, and bought no other leather except leather for the soles. He began to make friends with the best goldsmiths in town and had buckles made for the shoes, and had them gilded, and watched the process himself until he knew how to do it. And because of that he was called one of the Three Golden Shoemakers.*
As long as a shoe or boot could be supplied by him, nothing was bought from any shoemaker throughout town. The shoemakers realized that they were losing their profits, for as Manawydan cut out the leather, Pryderi stitched it. The shoemakers came and took counsel; they agreed to kill them.
‘Pryderi,’ said Manawydan, ‘the men want to kill us.’
‘Why should we take that from the thieving churls, rather than kill them all?’ said Pryderi.
‘No,’ said Manawydan, ‘we will not fight them nor will we stay in England any longer. We will set off and go and visit Dyfed.’
Although the road was long, they came at last to Dyfed, and made for Arberth where they kindled a fire, and began to support themselves by hunting, and they spent a month like this; they gathered their hounds about them and hunted, and spent a year there in this way.
One morning Pryderi and Manawydan get up to hunt; they get their dogs ready and leave the court. Some of the dogs run ahead of them and approach a small thicket that is nearby. But as soon as they enter the thicket they come out again quickly, their hair standing on end with fear, and return to the men.
‘Let us get closer to the thicket to see what is inside,’ said Pryderi.
They approached the thicket. As they approached, a gleaming-white wild boar* rose from it. Encouraged by the men, the dogs charged at him. The boar then left the thicket and retreated a little way from the men. And until the men closed in on him, he would keep the dogs at bay without retreating; but when the men closed in he would retreat again and break away. They followed the boar until they saw a huge, towering fort, newly built, in a place where they had never before seen either stone or building. The boar was heading quickly for the fort, with the dogs after him. When the boar and the dogs had gone into the fort, the men marvelled at seeing the fort in a place where they had never before seen any building at all. From the top of the mound they looked and listened for the dogs. Although they waited for a long time, they did not hear the sound of a single dog nor anything at all about them.
‘Lord,’ said Pryderi, ‘I will go into the fort to seek news of the dogs.’
‘God knows,’ replied Manawydan, ‘it’s not a good idea for you to go into the fort. We have never seen it before; if you take my advice, you will not enter. For whoever cast a spell on the land has caused the fort to appear.’
‘God knows,’ said Pryderi, ‘I will not abandon my dogs.’
In spite of the advice he received from Manawydan, Pryderi approached the fort. When he entered, neither man nor beast,neither boar nor dogs, neither house nor dwelling-place could he see in the fort. But he could see in the middle of the floor, as it were, a well with marble-work around it. At the edge of the well there was a golden bowl fastened to four chains, over a marble slab, and the chains reached up to the sky, and he could see no end to them. He was enraptured by the beauty of the gold and the fine workmanship of the bowl. And he went to the bowl and grabbed it. But as soon as he grabs the bowl, his hands stick to it and his feet stick to the slab on which he was standing, and the power of speech is taken from him so that he could not utter a single word. And there he stood.
Manawydan waited for him almost until evening. Late in the afternoon, when he was certain that he would get no news about Pryderi or the dogs, he returned to the court. When he entered, Rhiannon looked at him.
‘Where is your companion and your dogs?’ she said.
‘This is what happened,’ he said, and told her the whole story.
‘God knows,’ said Rhiannon, ‘you have been a poor companion, and you have lost a good friend.’ And with those words out she went, going in the direction he had told her Pryderi and the fort could be found.
She found the gate of the fort open—it was ajar—and in she came. As soon as she entered she discovered Pryderi gripping the bowl, and she went up to him.
‘My lord,’ she said, ‘what are you doing here?’ Then she too grabbed the bowl. As soon as she grabs it, her hands too stick to the bowl and her feet to the slab, so that she too could not utter a single word. Then, as soon as it was night, there was a tumultous noise above them, and a blanket of mist, and then the fort disappeared and so did they.
When Cigfa, daughter of Gwynn Gloyw, wife of Pryderi, saw that she and Manawydan were alone in the court, she lamented that she did not care whether she lived or died. Manawydan saw this.
‘God knows,’ he said, ‘you are mistaken if you are lamenting because you are afraid of me. I give you God as my guarantor,* that you will never find a truer friend than me, for as long as God wishes it so. I swear to God, even if I were in the prime of youth, I would be true to Pryderi. And for your sake, too, I will be true, and so have no fear at all,’ he said. ‘I swear to God,’ he said, ‘you shall have the friendship that you want from me, as far as I am able, for as long as God wants us to be in this misery and sorrow.’
‘May God repay you; I thought as much,’ said Cigfa. Then the maiden cheered up and took courage because of that.
‘Well, my friend,’ said Manawydan, ‘there is no point our staying here. We have lost our dogs and we cannot support ourselves. Let us go to England—it will be easier for us to support ourselves there.’
‘Gladly, lord,’ she said, ‘let us do that.’ Together they journeyed to England.
‘Lord,’ she said, ‘what craft will you choose? Choose one that is clean.’
‘I will choose nothing but shoemaking, as I did before,’ he said.
‘Lord,’ she said, ‘that craft, as regards its cleanliness, is not suitable for a man of your skill and status.’
‘Well that’s the one I will follow,’ he said.
He set about his craft and shaped his work from the fairest Cordovan leather he could get in town. As they had done in the other place, he began to fit the shoes with golden buckles, until the work of all the shoemakers in town was worthless and inferior compared to his. And as long as a shoe or boot could be supplied by him, nothing was bought from anyone else. And so he spent a year there until the shoemakers became envious and jealous of him, and until warnings reached him saying that the shoemakers had decided to kill him.
‘Lord,’ said Cigfa, ‘why should we put up with this from the churls?’
They set out for Dyfed. When Manawydan set off, he took with him a load of wheat and made for Arberth and settled there. Nothing gave him more pleasure than seeing Arberth and the land where he had been hunting, he and Pryderi, and Rhiannon with them. He began to get used to catching fish and wild animals in their lairs. After that he began to till the soil, and then he sowed a small field, and a second, and a third. And indeed, the wheat sprang up the best in the world, his three fields flourishing alike so that no one had seen wheat finer than that. The seasons of the year passed by. Harvest time arrived, and he went to look at one of his fields; it was ripe.
‘I will reap this tomorrow,’ he said. He returned that
night to Arberth.
In the grey dawn the next day, he comes intending to reap the field. When he arrives, there are only the bare stalks, each one having been broken off where the ear comes out of the stalk, and the ears have all been carried away, and the stalks left there, bare. He is greatly surprised at that and goes to look at another field; it is ripe.
‘God only knows,’ he said, ‘I will reap this one tomorrow.’
The next day he comes with the intention of reaping the field.
When he arrives, there is nothing but bare stalks.
‘Oh Lord God,’ he said, ‘who is trying to destroy me completely? I know this much: whoever began this destruction is now bringing it to an end, and has destroyed the land along with me.’
He comes to look at the third field. When he arrives, no one has seen finer wheat, and all of it ripe.
‘Shame on me,’ he said, ‘if I do not keep watch tonight. Whoever carried off the other wheat will come to take this, and I will find out who it is.’
He took his weapons, and began to keep watch over the field. He told Cigfa everything.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘what have you in mind?’
‘I will keep watch over the field tonight,’ he said.
He went to keep watch over the field. While he was doing so, towards midnight, he heard the loudest noise in the world. He looked. There was a huge army of mice*—they could not be counted or measured. The next thing he knew, the mice were making for the field, and each one was climbing up along a stalk and bending it down, and breaking the ear and making off with the ears, and leaving the stalks behind. And as far as he knew there was not a single stalk there without a mouse to it. And they ran away carrying the ears with them. Then, enraged and angered, he charged in among the mice. He could no more keep his eye on one of them than on the gnats or the birds in the air. But he could see that one was very fat, and unlikely to be able to move quickly. He went after that one and caught it, and put it in his glove, and tied the mouth of the glove with string, and kept hold of it and made for the court.
Manawydan came to the chamber where Cigfa was, and he lit the fire, and hung the glove by its string on the peg.
‘What do you have there, lord?’ said Cigfa.
‘A thief that I caught stealing from me,’ he replied.
‘What sort of thief, lord, could you put in your glove?’ she said.
‘I’ll tell you everything,’ he said, and he told her how his fields had been destroyed and laid waste, and how the mice had come to the last field before his very eyes.
‘And one of them was very fat, and I caught it, and it’s inside the glove, and I intend to hang it tomorrow. And by my confession to God, had I caught them all, I would hang them.’
‘Lord,’ she said, ‘I’m not surprised. But yet it’s not proper for a man of your status and rank to hang that sort of creature. If you were to do the right thing, you would not bother with the creature, but let it go.’
‘Shame on me,’ he said, ‘if I would not have hanged them all had I caught them. But what I have caught I will hang.’
‘Well, lord,’ she said, ‘there is no reason why I should help this creature, except to prevent you from being disgraced. So do as you will, lord.’
‘If I knew of any reason in the world why you should help the creature, I would take your advice; but since I do not, my lady, I intend to destroy it.’
‘Then do so gladly,’ she said.
Then he made for Gorsedd Arberth, taking the mouse with him, and he pushed two forks into the highest point of the mound. As he was doing this, he could see a cleric* coming towards him, dressed in poor, threadbare, old clothes. And it was seven years since he had seen either man or beast, except for the four people who had been together until two of them disappeared.
‘Lord,’ said the cleric, ‘good day to you.’
‘May God prosper you, and welcome,’ said Manawydan. ‘Where do you come from, cleric?’ he said.
‘I come, lord, from England where I have been singing. And why do you ask, lord?’ he said.
‘Because for the last seven years I have not seen a single person here, apart from four exiled people, and now yourself.’
‘Well, lord,’ he said, ‘I myself am just passing through on the way to my own country. But what sort of work are you engaged in, lord?’
‘Hanging a thief I caught stealing from me,’ he said.
‘What sort of thief, lord?’ he said. ‘I can see a creature in your hand that looks like a mouse. It’s not fitting for a man of your status to handle such a creature. Let it go!’
‘I will not, between me and God,’ he said. ‘I caught it stealing, and I am punishing it in accordance with the law,* which is to hang it.’
‘Lord,’ he said, ‘rather than see a man of your status involved in such work, I will give you the pound I received as charity to let that creature go.’
‘Between me and God, I will neither sell it nor let it go.’
‘As you wish, lord,’ he said. ‘If it were not improper to see a man of your status touching such a creature, it would not worry me.’ And off went the cleric.
As Manawydan was placing the crossbeam on the forks, he saw a priest approaching on a well-equipped horse.
‘Lord, good day to you,’ he said.
‘May God prosper you,’ said Manawydan, ‘and I ask for your blessing.’
‘God’s blessing upon you. And what sort of work, lord, are you engaged in?’
‘I am hanging a thief I caught stealing from me,’ he said.
‘What sort of thief, lord?’ he said.
‘A creature in the shape of a mouse,’ he said, ‘and it stole from me, and I am putting it to death in the way one should a thief.’
‘Lord, rather than see you handle that creature, I will buy it from you. Let it go.’
‘By my confession to God, I will neither sell it nor let it go.’
‘The truth is, lord, it is worth nothing. But rather than see you defile yourself with that creature, I will give you three pounds to let it go.’
‘Between me and God,’ he said, ‘I want no payment except what is deserves—hanging!’
‘Very well, lord, do as you please.’ Off went the priest. Manawydan tied the string around the mouse’s neck.
As he was hoisting it up, he could see a bishop’s entourage and his baggage and his retinue, and the bishop himself approaching. So Manawydan postponed his work.
‘Lord bishop,’ he said, ‘your blessing.’
‘May God give you his blessing,’ he said. ‘What sort of work are you engaged in?’
‘I’m hanging a thief I caught stealing from me,’ he said.
‘Isn’t that a mouse I see in your hand?’ he said.
‘It is,’ he said, ‘and it stole from me.’
‘Well,’ said the bishop, ‘since I have arrived just when you were about to destroy that creature, I will buy it from you. I will give you seven pounds for it, and rather than see a man of your status destroying such a worthless creature, let it go, and you shall have the money.’
‘I will not let it go, between me and God,’ he said.
‘Since you will not let it go for that, I will give you twenty-four pounds in ready money to let it go.’
‘By my confession to God,’ he said, ‘I will not let it go for as much again.’
‘Since you will not release the creature for that,’ he said, ‘I will give you every horse you can see on this plain, and the seven loads of baggage that are on the seven horses.’
‘No, between me and God,’ he said.
‘Since you do not want that, name your price.’
‘I will,’ he said: ‘the release of Rhiannon and Pryderi.’
‘You shall have that.’
‘That’s not enough, between me and God.’
‘What else do you want?’
‘Remove the magic and enchantment from the seven cantrefs of Dyfed.’
‘You shall have that too, now let
the mouse go.’
‘I will not, between me and God,’ he said. ‘I want to know who the mouse is.’
‘She is my wife, and if she were not, I would not free her.’
‘How did she come to me?’
‘Stealing,’ he said. ‘I am Llwyd son of Cil Coed, and it is I who placed the enchantment on the seven cantrefs of Dyfed, and I did so to avenge Gwawl son of Clud, out of friendship for him; and I took revenge on Pryderi because Pwyll Pen Annwfn played Badger in the Bag* with Gwawl son of Clud, and he did that unwisely at the court of Hyfaidd Hen. And having heard that you were living in the land, my retinue came to me and asked me to turn them into mice so that they could destroy your corn. The first night they came alone. And they came the second night too, and destroyed the two fields. But the third night my wife and the ladies of the court came to me and asked me to transform them too, and I did that. My wife was pregnant. And had she not been pregnant you would not have caught her. But since she was, and you did, I will give you Pryderi and Rhiannon, and I will remove the magic and enchantment from Dyfed. I have told you who she is, now let her go.’
‘I will not let her go, between me and God,’ he said.
‘What else do you want?’ he said.
‘This is what I want,’ he said: ‘that there will never be any spell on the seven cantrefs of Dyfed, and that none will ever be cast.’
‘You shall have that,’ he said. ‘Now let her go.’
‘I will not let her go, between me and God,’ he said.
‘What else do you want?’ he said.
‘This is what I want,’ he said: ‘that no vengeance will ever be taken on Pryderi and Rhiannon, nor on me, because of this.’
‘You shall have all of that. And God only knows, you have struck a good bargain,’ he said. ‘Had you not done so,’ he said, ‘all the trouble would have fallen on your own head.’
‘Yes,’ said Manawydan, ‘that is why I made it a condition.’
‘And now set my wife free.’
‘I will not set her free, between me and God, until I see Pryderi and Rhiannon free with me.’
‘Look, here they come,’ he said. Then Pryderi and Rhiannon appeared. He got up to meet them, and welcomed them, and they sat down together.
The Mabinogion (Oxford World's Classics) Page 9
