“Enid, the pilot star of my lone life,Enid, my early and my only love.”—Enid.
“Enid, the pilot star of my lone life,Enid, my early and my only love.”—Enid.
“Enid, the pilot star of my lone life,Enid, my early and my only love.”—Enid.
“Enid, the pilot star of my lone life,Enid, my early and my only love.”—Enid.
“Enid, the pilot star of my lone life,
Enid, my early and my only love.”
—Enid.
“That will I not, by Heaven,” she said; “yonder man was the first to whom my faith was ever pledged; and shall I prove inconstant to him?” “Thou art in the wrong,” said the earl; “if I slay the man yonder, I can keep thee with me as long as I choose; and when thou no longer pleasest me, I can turn thee away. But if thou goest with me by thy own good-will, I protest that our union shall continue as long as I remain alive.” Then she pondered those words of his, and she considered that it was advisable to encourage him in his request. “Behold then, chieftain, this is most expedient for thee to do to save me from all reproach; come here to-morrow and take me away as though I knew nothing thereof.” “I will do so,” said he. So he arose and took his leave, and went forth with his attendants. And she told not then to Geraint any of the conversation which she had had with the earl, lest it should rouse his anger, and cause him uneasiness and care.
And at the usual hour they went to sleep. And at the beginning of the night Enid slept a little; and at midnight she arose, and placed all Geraint’s armor together so that it might be ready to put on. And although fearful of her errand, she came to the side of Geraint’s bed; and she spoke to him softly and gently, saying, “My lord, arise, and clothe thyself, for these were the words of the earl to me and his intention concerning me.” So she told Geraint all that had passed. And although he was wroth with her, he took warning, and clothed himself.And she lighted a candle, that he might have light to do so. “Leave there the candle,” said he, “and desire the man of the house to come here.” Then she went, and the man of the house came to him. “Dost thou know how much I owe thee?” asked Geraint. “I think thou owest but little.” “Take the three horses and the three suits of armor.” “Heaven reward thee, lord,” said he, “but I spent not the value of one suit of armor upon thee.” “For that reason,” said he, “thou wilt be the richer. And now, wilt thou come to guide me out of the town?” “I will gladly,” said he; “and in which direction dost thou intend to go?” “I wish to leave the town by a different way from that by which I entered it.” So the man of the lodgings accompanied him as far as he desired. Then he bade the maiden to go on before him, and she did so, and went straight forward, and his host returned home.
And Geraint and the maiden went forward along the high-road. And as they journeyed thus, they heard an exceeding loud wailing near to them. “Stay thou here,” said he, “and I will go and see what is the cause of this wailing.” “I will,” said she. Then he went forward into an open glade that was near the road. And in the glade he saw two horses, one having a man’s saddle, and the other a woman’s saddle upon it. And behold there was a knight lying dead in his armor, and a young damsel in a riding-dress standing over him lamenting. “Ah, lady,” said Geraint, “what hath befallen thee?” “Behold,” she answered, “I journeyed here with my beloved husband, when lo! three giants came upon us, and without any cause in the world, they slew him.” “Which way went they hence?” said Geraint. “Yonder by the high-road,” she replied. So he returned to Enid. “Go,” said he, “to the lady that is below yonder, and await me there till I come.” She was sad when he ordered her to do thus, but nevertheless she went to the damsel, whom it was ruth to hear, and she felt certain that Geraint would never return.
Meanwhile Geraint followed the giants, and overtook them. And each of them was greater in stature than three other men, and a huge club was on the shoulderof each. Then he rushed upon one of them, and thrust his lance through his body. And having drawn it forth again, he pierced another of them through likewise. But the third turned upon him and struck him with his club so that he split his shield and crushed his shoulder. But Geraint drew his sword and gave the giant a blow on the crown of his head, so severe, and fierce, and violent, that his head and his neck were split down to his shoulders, and he fell dead. So Geraint left him thus and returned to Enid. And when he reached the place where she was he fell down lifeless from his horse. Piercing and loud and thrilling was the cry that Enid uttered. And she came and stood over him where he had fallen. And at the sound of her cries came the Earl of Limours, and they who journeyed with him, whom her lamentations brought out of their road. And the earl said to Enid, “Alas, lady, what hath befallen thee?” “Ah, good sir,” said she, “the only man I have loved, or ever shall love, is slain.” Then he said to the other, “And what is the cause of thy grief?” “They have slain my beloved husband also,” said she. “And who was it that slew them?” “Some giants,” she answered, “slew my best-beloved, and the other knight went in pursuit of them, and came back in the state thou seest.” The earl caused the knight that was dead to be buried, but he thought that there still remained some life in Geraint; and to see if he yet would live, he had him carried with him in the hollow of his shield, and upon a bier. And the two damsels went to the court; and when they arrived there, Geraint was placed upon a little couch in front of the table that was in the hall. Then they all took off their traveling-gear, and the earl besought Enid to do the same, and to clothe herself in other garments. “I will not, by Heaven,” said she. “Ah, lady,” said he, “be not so sorrowful for this matter.” “It were hard to persuade me to be otherwise,” said she. “I will act towards thee in such wise that thou needest not be sorrowful, whether yonder knight live or die. Behold, a good earldom, together with myself, will I bestow upon thee; be therefore happy and joyful.” “I declare to Heaven,” said she, “that henceforthI shall never be joyful while I live.” “Come,” said he, “and eat.” “No, by Heaven, I will not.” “But, by Heaven, thou shalt,” said he. So he took her with him to the table against her will, and many times desired her to eat. “I call Heaven to witness,” said she, “that I will not until the man that is upon yonder bier shall eat likewise.” “Thou canst not fulfil that,” said the earl, “yonder man is dead already.” “I will prove that I can,” said she. Then he offered her a goblet of liquor. “Drink this goblet,” he said, “and it will cause thee to change thy mind.” “Evil betide me,” she answered, “if I drink aught until he drink also.” “Truly,” said the earl, “it is of no more avail for me to be gentle with thee than ungentle.” And he gave her a box in the ear. Thereupon she raised a loud and piercing shriek, and her lamentations were much greater than they had been before; for she considered in her mind, that, had Geraint been alive, he durst not have struck her thus. But, behold, at the sound of her cry, Geraint revived from his swoon, and he sat upon the bier; and finding his sword in the hollow of his shield, he rushed to the place where the earl was, and struck him a fiercely-wounding, severely-venomous, and sternly-smiting blow upon the crown of his head, so that he clove him in twain, until his sword was staid by the table. Then all left the board and fled away. And this was not so much through fear of the living, as through the dread they felt at seeing the dead man rise up to slay them. And Geraint looked upon Enid, and he was grieved for two causes; one was to see that Enid had lost her color and her wonted aspect; and the other, to know that she was in the right. “Lady,” said he, “knowest thou where our horses are?” “I know, lord, where thy horse is,” she replied, “but I know not where is the other. Thy horse is in the house yonder.” So he went to the house, and brought forth his horse, and mounted him, and took up Enid, and placed her upon the horse with him. And he rode forward. And their road lay between two hedges; and the night was gaining on the day. And lo! they saw behind them the shafts of spears betwixt them and the sky, and they heard the tramping ofhorses, and the noise of a host approaching. “I hear something following us,” said he, “and I will put thee on the other side of the hedge.” And thus he did. And thereupon, behold a knight pricked towards him, and couched his lance. When Enid saw this, she cried out, saying, “O chieftain, whoever thou art, what renown wilt thou gain by slaying a dead man?” “O Heaven!” said he, “is it Geraint?” “Yes, in truth,” said she; “and who art thou?” “I am Gwiffert Petit,” said he, “thy husband’s ally, coming to thy assistance, for I heard that thou wast in trouble. Come with me to the court of a son-in-law of my sister, which is near here, and thou shalt have the best medical assistance in the kingdom.” “I will do so gladly,” said Geraint. And Enid was placed upon the horse of one of Gwiffert’s squires, and they went forward to the baron’s palace. And they were received there with gladness, and they met with hospitality and attention. The next morning they went to seek physicians; and it was not long before they came, and they attended Geraint until he was perfectly well. And while Geraint was under medical care Gwiffert caused his armor to be repaired, until it was as good as it had ever been. And they remained there a month and a fortnight. Then they separated, and Geraint went towards his own dominions, and thenceforth he reigned prosperously, and his warlike fame and splendor lasted with renown and honor, both to him and to Enid,[63]from that time forward.
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Onceupon a time Pwyll was at Narberth, his chief palace, where a feast had been prepared for him, and with him was a great host of men. And after the first meal Pwyll arose to walk; and he went to the top of a mound that was above the palace, and was called Gorsedd Arberth. “Lord,” said one of the court, “it is peculiar to the mound that whosoever sits upon it cannot go thence without either receiving wounds or blows, or else seeing a wonder.” “I fear not to receive wounds or blows,” said Pwyll; “but as to the wonder, gladly would I see it. I will therefore go and sit upon the mound.”
And upon the mound he sat. And while he sat there, they saw a lady, on a pure white horse of large size, with a garment of shining gold around her, coming along the highway that led from the mound. “My men,” said Pwyll, “is there any among you who knows yonder lady?” “There is not, lord,” said they. “Go one of you and meet her, that we may know who she is.” And one of them arose, and as he came upon the road to meet her, she passed by; and he followed as fast as he could, being on foot, and the greater was his speed, the further was she from him. And when he saw that it profited him nothing to follow her, he returned to Pwyll, and said unto him, “Lord, it is idle for any one in the world to follow her on foot.” “Verily,” said Pwyll, “go unto the palace, and take the fleetest horse that thou seest, and go after her.”
And he took a horse and went forward. And he came to an open, level plain, and put spurs to his horse; and the more he urged his horse, the further was she from him. And he returned to the place where Pwyll was, and said, “Lord, it will avail nothing for any one to follow yonder lady. I know of no horse in these realms swifter than this, and it availed me not to pursueher.” “Of a truth,” said Pwyll, “there must be some illusion here; let us go towards the palace.” So to the palace they went, and spent the day.
And the next day they amused themselves until it was time to go to meat. And when meat was ended, Pwyll said, “Where are the hosts that went yesterday to the top of the mound?” “Behold, lord, we are here,” said they. “Let us go,” said he, “to the mound, and sit there. And do thou,” said he to the page who tended his horse, “saddle my horse well, and hasten with him to the road, and bring also my spurs with thee.” And the youth did thus. And they went and sat upon the mound; and ere they had been there but a short time, they beheld the lady coming by the same road, and in the same manner, and at the same pace. “Young man,” said Pwyll, “I see the lady coming; give me my horse.” And before he had mounted his horse she passed him. And he turned after her and followed her. And he let his horse go bounding playfully, and thought that he should soon come up with her. But he came no nearer to her than at first. Then he urged his horse to his utmost speed, yet he found that it availed not. Then said Pwyll, “O maiden, for the sake of him whom thou best lovest, stay for me.” “I will stay gladly,” said she; “and it were better for thy horse hadst thou asked it long since.” So the maiden stopped; and she threw back that part of her head-dress which covered her face. Then he thought that the beauty of all the maidens and all the ladies that he had ever seen was as nothing compared to her beauty. “Lady,” he said, “wilt thou tell me aught concerning thy purpose?” “I will tell thee,” said she; “my chief quest was to see thee.” “Truly,” said Pwyll, “this is to me the most pleasing quest on which thou couldst have come; and wilt thou tell me who thou art?” “I will tell thee, lord,” said she. “I am Rhiannon, the daughter of Heveydd, and they sought to give me a husband against my will. But no husband would I have, and that because of my love for thee; neither will I yet have one, unless thou reject me; and hither have I come to hear thy answer.” “By Heaven,” said Pwyll, “behold this is my answer. IfI might choose among all the ladies and damsels in the world, thee would I choose.” “Verily,” said she, “if thou art thus minded, make a pledge to meet me ere I am given to another.” “The sooner I may do so, the more pleasing will it be to me,” said Pwyll; “and wheresoever thou wilt, there will I meet with thee.” “I will that thou meet me this day twelvemonth at the palace of Heveydd.” “Gladly,” said he, “will I keep this tryst.” So they parted, and he went back to his hosts, and to them of his household. And whatsoever questions they asked him respecting the damsel, he always turned the discourse upon other matters.
And when a year from that time was gone, he caused a hundred knights to equip themselves, and to go with him to the palace of Heveydd. And he came to the palace, and there was great joy concerning him, with much concourse of people, and great rejoicing, and vast preparations for his coming. And the whole court was placed under his orders.
And the hall was garnished, and they went to meat, and thus did they sit: Heveydd was on one side of Pwyll, and Rhiannon on the other; and all the rest according to their rank. And they ate and feasted, and talked one with another. And at the beginning of the carousal after the meat, there entered a tall, auburn-haired youth, of royal bearing, clothed in a garment of satin. And when he came into the hall, he saluted Pwyll and his companions. “The greeting of Heaven be unto thee,” said Pwyll; “come thou and sit down.” “Nay,” said he, “a suitor am I, and I will do my errand.” “Do so willingly,” said Pwyll. “Lord,” said he, “my errand is unto thee, and it is to crave a boon of thee that I come.” “What boon soever thou mayest ask of me, so far as I am able, thou shalt have.” “Ah!” said Rhiannon, “wherefore didst thou give that answer?” “Has he not given it before the presence of these nobles?” asked the youth. “My soul,” said Pwyll, “what is the boon thou askest?” “The lady whom best I love is to be thy bride this night; I come to ask her of thee, with the feast and the banquet that are in this place.” And Pwyll was silent, because of the promise which he hadgiven. “Be silent as long as thou wilt,” said Rhiannon, “never did man make worse use of his wits than thou hast done.” “Lady,” said he, “I knew not who he was.” “Behold, this is the man to whom they would have given me against my will,” said she; “and he is Gawl, the son of Clud, a man of great power and wealth, and because of the word thou hast spoken, bestow me upon him, lest shame befall thee.” “Lady,” said he, “I understand not thy answer; never can I do as thou sayest.” “Bestow me upon him,” said she, “and I will cause that I shall never be his.” “By what means will that be?” asked Pwyll. Then she told him the thought that was in her mind. And they talked long together. Then Gawl said, “Lord, it is meet that I have an answer to my request.” “As much of that thou hast asked as it is in my power to give, thou shalt have,” replied Pwyll. “My soul,” said Rhiannon unto Gawl, “as for the feast and the banquet that are here, I have bestowed them upon the men of Dyved, and the household and the warriors that are with us. These can I not suffer to be given to any. In a year from to-night, a banquet shall be prepared for thee in this palace, that I may become thy bride.”
So Gawl went forth to his possessions, and Pwyll went also back to Dyved. And they both spent that year until it was the time for the feast at the palace of Heveydd. Then Gawl, the son of Clud, set out to the feast that was prepared for him; and he came to the palace, and was received there with rejoicing. Pwyll, also, the chief of Dyved, came to the orchard with a hundred knights, as Rhiannon had commanded him. And Pwyll was clad in coarse and ragged garments, and wore large, clumsy old shoes upon his feet. And when he knew that the carousal after the meat had begun, he went toward the hall; and when he came into the hall he saluted Gawl, the son of Clud, and his company, both men and women. “Heaven prosper thee,” said Gawl, “and friendly greeting be unto thee!” “Lord,” said he, “may Heaven reward thee! I have an errand unto thee.” “Welcome be thine errand, and if thou ask of me that which is right, thou shalt have it gladly.” “It is fitting,” answered he; “I crave but from want, and the boon I askis to have this small bag that thou seest filled with meat.” “A request within reason is this,” said he, “and gladly shalt thou have it. Bring him food.” A great number of attendants arose and began to fill the bag; but for all they put into it, it was no fuller than at first. “My soul,” said Gawl, “will thy bag ever be full?” “It will not, I declare to Heaven,” said he, “for all that may be put into it, unless one possessed of lands, and domains, and treasure, shall arise and tread down with both his feet the food that is within the bag, and shall say, ‘Enough has been put therein.’ ” Then said Rhiannon unto Gawl, the son of Clud, “Rise up quickly.” “I will willingly arise,” said he. So he rose up, and put his two feet into the bag. And Pwyll turned up the sides of the bag, so that Gawl was over his head in it. And he shut it up quickly, and slipped a knot upon the thongs, and blew his horn. And thereupon, behold, his knights came down upon the palace. And they seized all the host that had come with Gawl, and cast them into his own prison. And Pwyll threw off his rags, and his old shoes, and his tattered array. And as they came in, every one of Pwyll’s knights struck a blow upon the bag, and asked, “What is here?” “A badger,” said they. And in this manner they played, each of them striking the bag, either with his foot or with a staff. And thus played they with the bag. And then was the game of Badger in the Bag first played.
“Lord,” said the man in the bag, “if thou wouldst but hear me, I merit not to be slain in a bag.” Said Heveydd, “Lord, he speaks truth; it were fitting that thou listen to him, for he deserves not this.” “Verily,” said Pwyll, “I will do thy counsel concerning him.” “Behold, this is my counsel then,” said Rhiannon. “Thou art now in a position in which it behooves thee to satisfy suitors and minstrels. Let him give unto them in thy stead, and take a pledge from him that he will never seek to revenge that which has been done to him. And this will be punishment enough.” “I will do this gladly,” said the man in the bag. “And gladly will I accept it,” said Pwyll, “since it is the counsel of Heveydd and Rhiannon. Seek thyself sureties.” “We will be forhim,” said Heveydd, “until his men be free to answer for him.” And upon this he was let out of the bag, and his liegemen were liberated. “Verily, lord,” said Gawl, “I am greatly hurt, and I have many bruises. With thy leave, I will go forth. I will leave nobles in my stead to answer for me in all that thou shalt require.” “Willingly,” said Pwyll, “mayest thou do this.” So Gawl went to his own possessions.
And the hall was set in order for Pwyll and the men of his host, and for them also of the palace, and they went to the tables and sat down. And as they had sat that time twelvemonth, so sat they that night. And they ate and feasted, and spent the night in mirth and tranquility. And the time came that they should sleep, and Pwyll and Rhiannon went to their chamber.
And next morning at break of day, “My lord,” said Rhiannon, “arise and begin to give thy gifts unto the minstrels. Refuse no one to-day that may claim thy bounty.” “Thus shall it be gladly,” said Pwyll, “both to-day and every day while the feast shall last.” So Pwyll arose, and he caused silence to be proclaimed, and desired all the suitors and minstrels to show and to point out what gifts they desired. And this being done, the feast went on, and he denied no one while it lasted. And when the feast was ended, Pwyll said unto Heveydd, “My lord, with thy permission, I will set out for Dyved to-morrow.” “Certainly,” said Heveydd; “may Heaven prosper thee! Fix also a time when Rhiannon shall follow thee.” “By Heaven,” said Pwyll, “we will go hence together.” “Willest thou this, lord?” said Heveydd. “Yes, lord,” answered Pwyll.
And the next day they set forward towards Dyved, and journeyed to the palace of Narberth, where a feast was made ready for them. And there came to them great numbers of the chief men and the most noble ladies of the land, and of these there were none to whom Rhiannon did not give some rich gift, either a bracelet, or a ring, or a precious stone. And they ruled the land prosperously that year and the next.
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Bendigeid Vran, the son of Llyr, was the crowned king of this island, and he was exalted from the crown of London. And one afternoon he was at Harlech, in Ardudwy, at his court; and he sat upon the rock of Harlech, looking over the sea. And with him were his brother, Manawyddan, the son of Llyr, and his brothers by the mother’s side, Nissyen and Evnissyen, and many nobles likewise, as was fitting to see around a king. His two brothers by the mother’s side were the sons of Euroswydd, and one of these youths was a good youth, and of gentle nature, and would make peace between his kindred, and cause his family to be friends when their wrath was at the highest, and this one was Nissyen; but the other would cause strife between his two brothers when they were most at peace. And as they sat thus they beheld thirteen ships coming from the south of Ireland, and making towards them; and they came with a swift motion, the wind being behind them; and they neared them rapidly. “I see ships afar,” said the king, “coming swiftly towards the land. Command the men of the court that they equip themselves, and go and learn their intent.” So the men equipped themselves, and went down towards them. And when they saw the ships near, certain were they that they had never seen ships better furnished. Beautiful flags of satin were upon them. And, behold, one of the ships outstripped the others, and they saw a shield lifted up above the side of the ship, and the point of the shield was upwards, in token of peace. And the men drew near, that they might hold converse. Then they put out boats, and came toward the land. And they saluted the king. Now the king could hear them from the place where he was upon the rock above their heads. “Heaven prosper you,” said he, “and be ye welcome! To whom do these ships belong, and who is the chief amongst you?” “Lord,” said they, “Matholch, king of Ireland,is here, and these ships belong to him.” “Wherefore comes he?” asked the king, “and will he come to the land?” “He is a suitor unto thee, lord,” said they, “and he will not land unless he have his boon.” “And what may that be?” inquired the king. “He desires to ally himself, lord, with thee,” said they, “and he comes to ask Branwen, the daughter of Llyr, that, if it seem well to thee, the Island of the Mighty[64]may be leagued with Ireland, and both become more powerful.” “Verily,” said he, “let him come to land, and we will take counsel thereupon.” And this answer was brought to Matholch. “I will go willingly,” said he. So he landed, and they received him joyfully; and great was the throng in the palace that night, between his hosts and those of the court; and next day they took counsel, and they resolved to bestow Branwen upon Matholch. Now she was one of the three chief ladies of this island, and she was the fairest damsel in the world.
And they fixed upon Aberfraw as the place where she should become his bride. And they went thence, and towards Aberfraw the hosts proceeded, Matholch and his host in their ships, Bendigeid Vran and his host by land, until they came to Aberfraw. And at Aberfraw they began the feast, and sat down. And thus sat they: the king of the Island of the Mighty and Manawyddan, the son of Llyr, on one side, and Matholch on the other side, and Branwen, the daughter of Llyr, beside him. And they were not within a house, but under tents. No house could ever contain Bendigeid Vran. And they began the banquet, and caroused and discoursed. And when it was more pleasing to them to sleep than to carouse, they went to rest, and Branwen became Matholch’s bride.
And next day they arose, and all they of the court, and the officers began to equip, and to range the horses and the attendants, and they ranged them in order as far as the sea.
And, behold, one day Evnissyen, the quarrelsome man, of whom it is spoken above, came by chance intothe place where the horses of Matholch were, and asked whose horses they might be. “They are the horses of Matholch, king of Ireland, who is married to Branwen, thy sister; his horses are they.” “And is it thus they have done with a maiden such as she, and moreover my sister, bestowing her without my consent? They could have offered no greater insult to me than this,” said he. And thereupon he rushed under the horses, and cut off their lips at the teeth, and their ears close to their heads, and their tails close to their backs; and he disfigured the horses, and rendered them useless.
And they came with these tidings unto Matholch, saying that the horses were disfigured and injured, so that not one of them could ever be of any use again. “Verily, lord,” said one, “it was an insult unto thee, and as such was it meant.” “Of a truth, it is a marvel to me that, if they desire to insult me, they should have given me a maiden of such high rank, and so much beloved of her kindred, as they have done.” “Lord,” said another, “thou seest that thus it is, and there is nothing for thee to do but to go to thy ships.” And thereupon towards his ships he set out.
And tidings came to Bendigeid Vran that Matholch was quitting the court without asking leave, and messengers were sent to inquire of him wherefore he did so. And the messengers that went were Iddic, the son of Anarawd, and Heveyd Hir. And these overtook him, and asked of him what he designed to do, and wherefore he went forth. “Of a truth,” said he, “if I had known, I had not come hither. I have been altogether insulted; no one had ever worse treatment than I have had here.” “Truly, lord, it was not the will of any that are of the court,” said they, “nor of any that are of the council, that thou shouldst have received this insult; and as thou hast been insulted, the dishonor is greater unto Bendigeid Vran than unto thee.” “Verily,” said he, “I think so. Nevertheless, he cannot recall the insult.” These men returned with that answer to the place where Bendigeid Vran was, and they told him what reply Matholch had given them. “Truly,” said he, “there are no means by which we may prevent his goingaway at enmity with us that we will not take.” “Well, lord,” said they, “send after him another embassy.” “I will do so,” said he. “Arise, Manawyddan, son of Llyr, and Heveyd Hir, and go after him, and tell him that he shall have a sound horse for every one that has been injured. And beside that, as an atonement for the insult, he shall have a staff of silver as large and as tall as himself, and a plate of gold of the breadth of his face. And show unto him who it was that did this, and that it was done against my will; but that he who did it is my brother, and therefore it would be hard for me to put him to death. And let him come and meet me,” said he, “and we will make peace in any way he may desire.”
The embassy went after Matholch, and told him all these sayings in a friendly manner; and he listened thereunto. “Men,” said he, “I will take counsel.” So to the council he went. And in the council they considered that, if they should refuse this, they were likely to have more shame rather than to obtain so great an atonement. They resolved, therefore, to accept it, and they returned to the court in peace.
Then the pavilions and the tents were set in order, after the fashion of a hall; and they went to meat, and as they had sat at the beginning of the feast so sat they there. And Matholch and Bendigeid Vran began to discourse; and, behold, it seemed to Bendigeid Vran, while they talked, that Matholch was not so cheerful as he had been before. And he thought that the chieftain might be sad because of the smallness of the atonement which he had for the wrong that had been done him. “O man,” said Bendigeid Vran, “thou dost not discourse to-night so cheerfully as thou wast wont. And if it be because of the smallness of the atonement, thou shalt add thereunto whatsoever thou mayest choose, and to-morrow I will pay thee for the horses.” “Lord,” said he, “Heaven reward thee!” “And I will enhance the atonement,” said Bendigeid Vran, “for I will give unto thee a caldron, the property of which is, that if one of thy men be slain to-day, and be cast therein, to-morrow he will be as well as ever he was at the best, exceptthat he will not regain his speech.” And thereupon he gave him great thanks, and very joyful was he for that cause.
That night they continued to discourse as much as they would, and had minstrelsy and carousing; and when it was more pleasant to them to sleep than to sit longer, they went to rest. And thus was the banquet carried on with joyousness; and when it was finished, Matholch journeyed towards Ireland, and Branwen with him; and they went from Aber Menei with thirteen ships, and came to Ireland. And in Ireland was there great joy because of their coming. And not one great man nor noble lady visited Branwen unto whom she gave not either a clasp or a ring, or a royal jewel to keep, such as it was honorable to be seen departing with. And in these things she spent that year in much renown, and she passed her time pleasantly, enjoying honor and friendship. And in due time a son was born unto her, and the name that they gave him was Gwern, the son of Matholch, and they put the boy out to be nursed in a place where were the best men of Ireland.
And, behold, in the second year a tumult arose in Ireland, on account of the insult which Matholch had received in Wales, and the payment made him for his horses. And his foster-brothers, and such as were nearest to him, blamed him openly for that matter. And he might have no peace by reason of the tumult, until they should revenge upon him this disgrace. And the vengeance which they took was to drive away Branwen from the same chamber with him, and to make her cook for the court; and they caused the butcher, after he had cut up the meat, to come to her and give her every day a blow on the ear; and such they made her punishment.
“Verily, lord,” said his men to Matholch, “forbid now the ships and the ferry-boats, and the coracles, that they go not into Wales, and such as come over from Wales hither, imprison them, that they go not back for this thing to be known there.” And he did so; and it was thus for no less than three years.
And Branwen reared a starling in the cover of the kneading-trough, and she taught it to speak, and she taught the bird what manner of man her brother was. And she wrote a letter of her woes, and the despite with which she was treated, and she bound the letter to the root of the bird’s wing, and sent it toward Wales. And the bird came to that island; and one day it found Bendigeid Vran at Caer Seiont in Arvon, conferring there, and it alighted upon his shoulder, and ruffled its feathers, so that the letter was seen, and they knew that the bird had been reared in a domestic manner.
Then Bendigeid Vran took the letter and looked upon it. And when he had read the letter, he grieved exceedingly at the tidings of Branwen’s woes. And immediately he began sending messengers to summon the island together. And he caused seven-score and four of his chief men to come unto him, and he complained to them of the grief that his sister endured. So they took counsel. And in the counsel they resolved to go to Ireland, and to leave seven men as princes at home, and Caradoc,[65]the son of Bran, as the chief of them.
Bendigeid Vran, with the host of which we spoke, sailed towards Ireland; and it was not far across the sea, and he came to shoal water. Now the swine-herds of Matholch were upon the sea-shore, and they came to Matholch. “Lord,” said they, “greeting be unto thee.” “Heaven protect you!” said he; “have you any news?” “Lord,” said they, “we have marvellous news. A wood have we seen upon the sea, in a place where we never yet saw a single tree.” “This is indeed a marvel,” said he; “saw you aught else?” “We saw, lord,” said they, “a vast mountain beside the wood, which moved, and there was a lofty ridge on the top of the mountain, and a lake on each side of the ridge. And the wood and the mountain, and all these things, moved.” “Verily,” said he, “there is none who can know aught concerning this unless it be Branwen.”
Messengers then went unto Branwen. “Lady,” said they, “what thinkest thou that this is?” “The men of the Island of the Mighty, who have come hither on hearingof my ill-treatment and of my woes.” “What is the forest that is seen upon the sea?” asked they. “The yards and the masts of ships,” she answered. “Alas!” said they; “what is the mountain that is seen by the side of the ships?” “Bendigeid Vran, my brother,” she replied, “coming to shoal water, and he is wading to the land.” “What is the lofty ridge, with the lake on each side thereof?” “On looking towards this island he is wroth, and his two eyes on each side of his nose are the two lakes on each side of the ridge.”
The warriors and chief men of Ireland were brought together in haste, and they took counsel. “Lord,” said the neighbors unto Matholch, “there is no other counsel than this alone. Thou shalt give the kingdom to Gwern, the son of Branwen his sister, as a compensation for the wrong and despite that have been done unto Branwen. And he will make peace with thee.” And in the council it was resolved that this message should be sent to Bendigeid Vran, lest the country should be destroyed. And this peace was made. And Matholch caused a great house to be built for Bendigeid Vran, and his host. Thereupon came the hosts into 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. And as soon as they had sat down, there was concord between them; and the sovereignty was conferred upon the boy. When the peace was concluded, Bendigeid Vran called the boy unto him, and from Bendigeid Vran the boy went unto Manawyddan; and he was beloved by all that beheld him. And from Manawyddan the boy was called by Nissyen, the son of Euroswydd, and the boy went unto him lovingly. “Wherefore,” said Evnissyen, “comes not my nephew, the son of my sister, unto me? Though he were not king of Ireland, yet willingly would I fondle the boy.” “Cheerfully let him go to thee,” said Bendigeid Vran; and the boy went unto him cheerfully. “By my confession to Heaven,” said Evnissyen in his heart, “unthought of is the slaughter that I will this instant commit.”
Then he arose and took up the boy, and before anyone in the house could seize hold of him he thrust the boy headlong into the blazing fire. And when Branwen saw her son burning in the fire, she strove to leap into the fire also, from the place where she sat between her two brothers. But Bendigeid Vran grasped her with one hand, and his shield with the other. Then they all hurried about the house, and never was there made so great a tumult by any host in one house as was made by them, as each man armed himself. And while they all sought their arms Bendigeid Vran supported Branwen between his shield and his shoulder. And they fought.
Then the Irish kindled a fire under the caldron of renovation, and they cast the dead bodies into the caldron until it was full; and the next day they came forth fighting men, as good as before, except that they were not able to speak. Then when Evnissyen saw the dead bodies of the men of the Island of the Mighty nowhere resuscitated, he said in his heart, “Alas! woe is me, that I should have been the cause of bringing the men of the Island of the Mighty into so great a strait. Evil betide me if I find not a deliverance therefrom.” And he cast himself among the dead bodies of the Irish; and two unshod Irishmen came to him, and, taking him to be one of the Irish, flung him into the caldron. And he stretched himself out in the caldron, so that he rent the caldron into four pieces, and burst his own heart also.
In consequence of this, the men of the Island of the Mighty obtained such success as they had; but they were not victorious, for only seven men of them all escaped, and Bendigeid Vran himself was wounded in the foot with a poisoned dart. Now the men that escaped were Pryderi, Manawyddan, Taliesin, and four others.
And Bendigeid Vran commanded them that they should cut off his head. “And take you my head,” said he, “and bear it even unto the White Mount in London, and bury it there with the face towards France. And so long as it lies there, no enemy shall ever land on the island.” So they cut off his head, and theseseven went forward therewith. And Branwen was the eighth with them. And they came to land on Aber Alaw, and they sat down to rest. And Branwen looked towards Ireland, and towards the Island of the Mighty, to see if she could descry them. “Alas!” said she, “woe is me that I was ever born; two islands have been destroyed because of me.” Then she uttered a groan, and there broke her heart. And they made her a four-sided grave, and buried her upon the banks of the Alaw.
Then the seven men journeyed forward, bearing the head with them; and as they went, behold there met them a multitude of men and women. “Have you any tidings?” said Manawyddan. “We have none,” said they, “save that Caswallawn,[66]the son of Beli, has conquered the Island of the Mighty, and is crowned king in London.” “What has become,” said they, “of Caradoc, the son of Bran, and the seven men who were left with him in this island?” “Caswallawn came upon them, and slew six of the men, and Caradoc’s heart broke for grief thereof.” And the seven men journeyed on towards London, and they buried the head in the White Mount, as Bendigeid Vran had directed them.[67]
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Pwylland Rhiannon had a son, whom they named Pryderi. And when he was grown up, Pwyll, his father, died. And Pryderi married Kicva, the daughter of Gwynn Gloy.
Now Manawyddan returned from the war in Ireland, and he found that his cousin had seized all his possessions, and much grief and heaviness came upon him. “Alas! woe is me!” he exclaimed; “there is none savemyself without a home and a resting-place.” “Lord,” said Pryderi, “be not so sorrowful. Thy cousin is king of the Island of the Mighty, and though he has done thee wrong, thou hast never been a claimant of land or possessions.” “Yea,” answered he, “but although this man is my cousin, it grieveth me to see any one in the place of my brother, Bendigeid Vran; neither can I be happy in the same dwelling with him.” “Wilt thou follow the counsel of another?” said Pryderi. “I stand in need of counsel,” he answered, “and what may that counsel be?” “Seven cantrevs belong unto me,” said Pryderi, “wherein Rhiannon, my mother, dwells. I will bestow her upon thee, and the seven cantrevs with her; and though thou hadst no possessions but those cantrevs only, thou couldst not have any fairer than they. Do thou and Rhiannon enjoy them, and if thou desire any possessions thou wilt not despise these.” “I do not, chieftain,” said he. “Heaven reward thee for the friendship! I will go with thee to seek Rhiannon, and to look at thy possessions.” “Thou wilt do well,” he answered; “and I believe that thou didst never hear a lady discourse better than she, and when she was in her prime, none was ever fairer. Even now her aspect is not uncomely.”
They set forth, and, however long the journey, they came at last to Dyved; and a feast was prepared for them by Rhiannon and Kicva. Then began Manawyddan and Rhiannon to sit and to talk together; and his mind and his thoughts became warmed towards her, and he thought in his heart he had never beheld any lady more fulfilled of grace and beauty than she. “Pryderi,” said he, “I will that it be as thou didst say.” “What saying was that?” asked Rhiannon. “Lady,” said Pryderi, “I did offer thee as a wife to Manawyddan, the son of Llyr.” “By that will I gladly abide,” said Rhiannon. “Right glad am I also,” said Manawyddan, “may Heaven reward him who hath shown unto me friendship so perfect as this!”
And before the feast was over she became his bride. Said Pryderi, “Tarry ye here the rest of the feast, and I will go into England to tender my homage unto Caswallawn,the son of Beli.” “Lord,” said Rhiannon, “Caswallawn is in Kent; thou mayest therefore tarry at the feast, and wait until he shall be nearer.” “We will wait,” he answered. So they finished the feast. And they began to make the circuit of Dyved, and to hunt, and to take their pleasure. And as they went through the country, they had never seen lands more pleasant to live in, nor better hunting grounds, nor greater plenty of honey and fish. And such was the friendship between these four, that they would not be parted from each other by night nor by day.
And in the midst of all this he went to Caswallawn at Oxford, and tendered his homage; and honorable was his reception there, and highly was he praised for offering his homage.
And after his return Pryderi and Manawyddan feasted and took their ease and pleasure. And they began a feast at Narberth, for it was the chief palace. And when they had ended the first meal, while those who served them ate, they arose and went forth, and proceeded to the Gorsedd, that is, the Mount of Narberth, and their retinue with them. And as they sat thus, behold a peal of thunder, and with the violence of the thunder-storm, lo! there came a fall of mist, so thick that not one of them could see the other. And after the mist it became light all around. And when they looked towards the place where they were wont to see the cattle and herds and dwellings, they saw nothing now, neither house, nor beast, nor smoke, nor fire, nor man, nor dwelling, but the buildings of the court empty, and desert, and uninhabited, without either man or beast within them. And truly all their companions were lost to them, without their knowing aught of what had befallen them, save those four only.
“In the name of Heaven,” said Manawyddan, “where are they of the court, and all my host beside? Let us go and see.”
So they came to the castle, and saw no man, and into the hall, and to the sleeping-place, and there was none; and in the mead-cellar and in the kitchen there was naught but desolation. Then they began to go throughthe land, and all the possessions that they had; and they visited the houses and dwellings, and found nothing but wild beasts. And when they had consumed their feast and all their provisions, they fed upon the prey they killed in hunting, and the honey of the wild swans.
And one morning Pryderi and Manawyddan rose up to hunt, and they ranged their dogs and went forth. And some of the dogs ran before them, and came to a bush which was near at hand; but as soon as they were come to the bush, they hastily drew back, and returned to the men, their hair bristling up greatly. “Let us go near to the bush,” said Pryderi, “and see what is in it.” And as they came near, behold, a wild boar of a pure white color rose up from the bush. Then the dogs, being set on by the men, rushed towards him; but he left the bush, and fell back a little way from the men, and made a stand against the dogs, without retreating from them, until the men had come near. And when the men came up, he fell back a second time, and betook him to flight. Then they pursued the boar until they beheld a vast and lofty castle, all newly built, in a place where they had never before seen either stone or building. And the boar ran swiftly into the castle, and the dogs after him. Now when the boar and the dogs had gone into the castle, the men began to wonder at finding a castle in a place where they had never before seen any building whatsoever. And from the top of the Gorsedd they looked and listened for the dogs. But so long as they were there, they heard not one of the dogs, nor aught concerning them.
“Lord,” said Pryderi, “I will go into the castle to get tidings of the dogs.” “Truly,” he replied, “thou wouldst be unwise to go into this castle, which thou hast never seen till now. If thou wouldst follow my counsel, thou wouldst not enter therein. Whosoever has cast a spell over this land, has caused this castle to be here.” “Of a truth,” answered Pryderi, “I cannot thus give up my dogs.” And for all the counsel that Manawyddan gave him, yet to the castle he went.
When he came within the castle, neither man nor beast, nor boar, nor dogs, nor house, nor dwelling, sawhe within it. But in the centre of the castle-floor he beheld a fountain with marble-work around it, and on the margin of the fountain a golden bowl upon a marble slab, and chains hanging from the air, to which he saw no end.
And he was greatly pleased with the beauty of the gold, and with the rich workmanship of the bowl; and he went up to the bowl, and laid hold of it. And when he had taken hold of it, his hands stuck to the bowl, and his feet to the slab on which the bowl was placed; and all his joyousness forsook him, so that he could not utter a word. And thus he stood.
And Manawyddan waited for him till near the close of the day. And late in the evening, being certain that he should have no tidings of Pryderi or the dogs, he went back to the palace. And as he entered, Rhiannon looked at him. “Where,” said she, “are thy companion and thy dogs?” “Behold,” he answered, “the adventure that has befallen me.” And he related it all unto her. “An evil companion hast thou been,” said Rhiannon, “and a good companion hast thou lost.” And with that word she went out, and proceeded towards the castle, according to the direction which he gave her. The gate of the castle she found open. She was nothing daunted, and she went in. And as she went in, she perceived Pryderi laying hold of the bowl, and she went towards him. “O my lord,” said she, “what dost thou here?” And she took hold of the bowl with him; and as she did so, her hands also became fast to the bowl, and her feet to the slab, and she was not able to utter a word. And with that, as it became night, lo! there came thunder upon them, and a fall of mist; and thereupon the castle vanished, and they with it.
When Kicva, the daughter of Gwynn Gloy, saw that there was no one in the palace but herself and Manawyddan, she sorrowed so that she cared not whether she lived or died. And Manawyddan saw this. “Thou art in the wrong,” said he, “if through fear of me thou grievest thus. I call Heaven to witness that thou hast never seen friendship more pure than that which I will bear thee, as long as Heaven will that thou shouldst bethus. I declare to thee, that, were I in the dawn of youth, I would keep my faith unto Pryderi, and unto thee also will I keep it. Be there no fear upon thee, therefore.” “Heaven reward thee!” she said; “and that is what I deemed of thee.” And the damsel thereupon took courage, and was glad.
“Truly, lady,” said Manawyddan, “it is not fitting for us to stay here; we have lost our dogs, and cannot get food. Let us go into England; it is easiest for us to find support there.” “Gladly, lord,” said she, “we will do so.” And they set forth together to England.
“Lord,” said she, “what craft wilt thou follow? Take up one that is seemly.” “None other will I take,” answered he, “but that of making shoes.” “Lord,” said she, “such a craft becomes not a man so nobly born as thou.” “By that however will I abide,” said he. “I know nothing thereof,” said Kicva. “But I know,” answered Manawyddan, “and I will teach thee to stitch. We will not attempt to dress the leather, but we will buy it ready dressed, and will make the shoes from it.”
So they went into England, and went as far as Hereford; and they betook themselves to making shoes. And he began by buying the best cordwain that could be had in the town, and none other would buy. And he associated himself with the best goldsmith in the town, and caused him to make clasps for the shoes, and to gild the clasps; and he marked how it was done until he learned the method. And therefore is he called one of the three makers of gold shoes. And when they could be had from him, not a shoe nor hose was bought of any of the cordwainers in the town. But when the cordwainers perceived that their gains were failing (for as Manawyddan shaped the work, so Kicva stitched it), they came together and took counsel, and agreed that they would slay them. And he had warning thereof, and it was told him how the cordwainers had agreed together to slay him.
“Lord,” said Kicva, “wherefore should this be borne from these boors?” “Nay,” said he, “we will go back unto Dyved.” So towards Dyved they set forth.
Now Manawyddan, when he set out to return toDyved, took with him a burden of wheat. And he proceeded towards Narberth, and there he dwelt. And never was he better pleased than when he saw Narberth again, and the lands where he had been wont to hunt with Pryderi and with Rhiannon. And he accustomed himself to fish, and to hunt the deer in their covert. And then he began to prepare some ground, and he sowed a croft, and a second, and a third. And no wheat in the world ever sprung up better. And the three crofts prospered with perfect growth, and no man ever saw fairer wheat than it.
And thus passed the seasons of the year until the harvest came. And he went to look at one of his crofts, and, behold, it was ripe. “I will reap this to-morrow,” said he. And that night he went back to Narberth, and on the morrow, in the gray dawn, he went to reap the croft; and when he came there, he found nothing but the bare straw. Every one of the ears of the wheat was cut off from the stalk, and all the ears carried entirely away, and nothing but the straw left. And at this he marvelled greatly.
Then he went to look at another croft, and, behold, that also was ripe. “Verily,” said he, “this will I reap to-morrow.” And on the morrow he came with the intent to reap it; and when he came there, he found nothing but the bare straw. “O gracious Heaven!” he exclaimed. “I know that whosoever has begun my ruin is completing it, and has also destroyed the country with me.”
Then he went to look at the third croft; and when he came there, finer wheat had there never been seen, and this also was ripe. “Evil betide me,” said he, “if I watch not here to-night. Whoever carried off the other corn will come in like manner to take this, and I will know who it is.” And he told Kicva all that had befallen. “Verily,” said she, “what thinkest thou to do?” “I will watch the croft to-night,” said he. And he went to watch the croft.
And at midnight he heard something stirring among the wheat; and he looked, and behold, the mightiest host of mice in the world, which could neither be numberednor measured. And he knew not what it was until the mice had made their way into the croft, and each of them, climbing up the straw, and bending it down with its weight, had cut off one of the ears of wheat, and had carried it away, leaving there the stalk; and he saw not a single straw there that had not a mouse to it. And they all took their way, carrying the ears with them.
In wrath and anger did he rush upon the mice; but he could no more come up with them than if they had been gnats or birds of the air, except one only, which, though it was but sluggish, went so fast that a man on foot could scarce overtake it. And after this one he went, and he caught it, and put it in his glove, and tied up the opening of the glove with a string, and kept it with him, and returned to the palace. Then he came to the hall where Kicva was, and he lighted a fire, and hung the glove by the string upon a peg. “What hast thou there, lord?” said Kicva. “A thief,” said he, “that I found robbing me.” “What kind of a thief may it be, lord, that thou couldst put into thy glove?” said she. Then he told her how the mice came to the last of the fields in his sight. “And one of them was less nimble than the rest, and is now in my glove; to-morrow I will hang it.” “My lord,” said she, “this is marvellous; but yet it would be unseemly for a man of dignity like thee to be hanging such a reptile as this.” “Woe betide me,” said he, “if I would not hang them all, could I catch them, and such as I have I will hang.” “Verily, lord,” said she, “there is no reason that I should succor this reptile, except to prevent discredit unto thee. Do therefore, lord, as thou wilt.”
Then he went to the Mound of Narberth, taking the mouse with him. And he set up two forks on the highest part of the mound. And while he was doing this, behold, he saw a scholar coming towards him, in old and poor and tattered garments. And it was now seven years since he had seen in that place either man or beast, except those four persons who had remained together until two of them were lost.
“My lord,” said the scholar, “good-day to thee.” “Heaven prosper thee, and my greeting be unto thee!And whence dost thou come, scholar?” asked he. “I come, lord, from singing in England; and wherefore dost thou inquire?” “Because for the last seven years,” answered he, “I have seen no man here save four secluded persons, and thyself this moment.” “Truly, lord,” said he, “I go through this land unto mine own. And what work art thou upon, lord?” “I am hanging a thief that I caught robbing me,” said he. “What manner of thief is that?” asked the scholar. “I see a creature in thy hand like unto a mouse, and ill does it become a man of rank equal to thine to touch a reptile such as this. Let it go forth free.” “I will not let it go free, by Heaven,” said he; “I caught it robbing me, and the doom of a thief will I inflict upon it, and I will hang it.” “Lord,” said he, “rather than see a man of rank equal to thine at such a work as this, I would give thee a pound, which I have received as alms, to let the reptile go forth free.” “I will not let it go free,” said he, “neither will I sell it.” “As thou wilt, lord,” he answered; “I care naught.” And the scholar went his way.
And as he was placing the cross-beam upon the two forks, behold, a priest came towards him, upon a horse covered with trappings. “Good day to thee, lord,” said he. “Heaven prosper thee!” said Manawyddan; “thy blessing.” “The blessing of Heaven be upon thee! And what, lord, art thou doing?” “I am hanging a thief that I caught robbing me,” said he. “What manner of thief, lord?” asked he. “A creature,” he answered, “in form of a mouse. It has been robbing me, and I am inflicting upon it the doom of a thief.” “Lord,” said he, “rather than see thee touch this reptile, I would purchase its freedom.” “By my confession to Heaven, neither will I sell it nor set it free.” “It is true, lord, that it is worth nothing to buy; but rather than see thee defile thyself by touching such a reptile as this, I will give thee three pounds to let it go.” “I will not, by Heaven,” said he, “take any price for it. As it ought, so shall it be hanged.” And the priest went his way.
Then he noosed the string around the mouse’s neck, and as he was about to draw it up, behold, he saw abishop’s retinue, with his sumpter-horses and his attendants. And the bishop himself came towards him. And he stayed his work. “Lord Bishop,” said he, “thy blessing.” “Heaven’s blessing be unto thee!” said he. “What work art thou upon?” “Hanging a thief that I caught robbing me,” said he. “Is not that a mouse that I see in thy hand?” “Yes,” answered he, “and she has robbed me.” “Ay,” said he, “since I have come at the doom of this reptile I will ransom it of thee. I will give thee seven pounds for it, and that rather than see a man of rank equal to thine destroying so vile a reptile as this. Let it loose, and thou shalt have the money.” “I declare to Heaven that I will not let it loose.” “If thou wilt not loose it for this, I will give thee four and twenty pounds of ready money to set it free.” “I will not set it free, by Heaven, for as much again,” said he. “If thou wilt not set it free for this, I will give thee all the horses that thou seest in this plain, and the seven loads of baggage, and the seven horses that they are upon.” “By Heaven, I will not,” he replied. “Since for this thou wilt not set it free, do so at what price soever thou wilt.” “I will that Rhiannon and Pryderi be free,” said he. “That thou shalt have,” he answered. “Not yet will I loose the mouse, by Heaven.” “What then wouldst thou?” “That the charm and the illusion be removed from the seven cantrevs of Dyved.” “This shalt thou have also; set therefore the mouse free.” “I will not set it free, by Heaven,” said he, “till I know who the mouse may be.” “She is my wife.” “Wherefore came she to me?” “To despoil thee,” he answered. “I am Lloyd, the son of Kilwed, and I cast the charm over the seven cantrevs of Dyved. And it was to avenge Gawl, the son of Clud, from the friendship I had towards him, that I cast the charm. And upon Pryderi did I avenge Gawl, the son of Clud, for the game of Badger in the Bag, that Pwyll, the son of Auwyn, played upon him. And when it was known that thou wast come to dwell in the land, my household came and besought me to transform them into mice, that they might destroy thy corn. And they went the first and the second night, and destroyed thy two crops. And the third night came untome my wife and the ladies of the court, and besought me to transform them. And I transformed them. Now she is not in her usual health. And had she been in her usual health, thou wouldst not have been able to overtake her; but since this has taken place, and she has been caught, I will restore to thee Pryderi and Rhiannon, and I will take the charm and illusion from off Dyved. Set her therefore free.” “I will not set her free yet.” “What wilt thou more?” he asked. “I will that there be no more charm upon the seven cantrevs of Dyved, and that none shall be put upon it henceforth; moreover, that vengeance be never taken for this, either upon Pryderi or Rhiannon, or upon me.” “All this shalt thou have. And truly thou hast done wisely in asking this. Upon thy head would have lit all this trouble.” “Yea,” said he, “for fear thereof was it that I required this.” “Set now my wife at liberty.” “I will not,” said he, “until I see Pryderi and Rhiannon with me free.” “Behold, here they come,” he answered.
And thereupon behold Pryderi and Rhiannon. And he rose up to meet them, and greeted them, and sat down beside them. “Ah, chieftain, set now my wife at liberty,” said the bishop. “Hast thou not received all thou didst ask?” “I will release her, gladly,” said he. And thereupon he set her free.
Then he struck her with a magic wand, and she was changed back into a young woman, the fairest ever seen.
“Look round upon thy land,” said he, “and thou wilt see it all tilled and peopled as it was in its best estate.” And he rose up and looked forth. And when he looked he saw all the lands tilled, and full of herds and dwellings.
And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogi.
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The following allusions to the preceding story are found in a letter of the poet Southey to John Rickman, Esq., dated June 6th, 1802:
“You will read the Mabinogeon, concerning which I ought to have talked to you. In the last, that most odd and Arabian-like story of the mouse, mention ismade of a begging scholar, that helps to the date; but where did the Cymri get the imagination that could produce such a tale? That enchantment of the basin hanging by the chain from heaven is in the wildest spirit of the Arabian Nights. I am perfectly astonished that such fictions should exist in Welsh. They throw no light on the origin of romance, everything being utterly dissimilar to what we mean by that term, but they do open a new world of fiction; and if the date of their language be fixed about the twelfth or thirteenth century, I cannot but think the mythological substance is of far earlier date; very probably brought from the East by some of the first settlers or conquerors.”
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