Merlin

TWO

Oh, Wolf, happy Wolf, monarch of the green-clad hills, you are my only friend. Speak to me now. Give me the benefit of your wise counsel. Be my advocate and my protector.

Nothing to say, wise friend? What is that? A story?

If it pleases you, Hill Lord. I take up my harp. Hear, O People of Dust. Hearken well to the tale I shall tell:

In elder days, when the dew of creation was still fresh on the earth, Great Manawyddan ap Llyr was lord and king over seven cantrefs of Dyfed and this is the way of it.

Now Manawyddan was brother to Bran the Blessed, who himself was king of the Island of the Mighty, holding all kings and kinglets beneath him, even as he held all lands as his own. But Bran had journeyed to the Otherworld and tarried long, so Manawyddan took the kingship in his brother's place, as was his right to do. And there was not a better king in all the world than Manawyddan, and no better place for a kingdom than the wild hills of Dyfed, for these were the fairest lands in all the world.

It came about that Pryderi, prince of Gwynedd, came before Manawyddan seeking friendship for their two houses. Manawyddan received him gladly and offered a feast. So, the two friends feasted and took their ease, engaging in pleasant conversation and delighting in the songs of Manawyddan's skilful bard, Anuin Llaw, and the company of Manawyddan's beautiful queen, Rhiannon, of whom many wondrous tales are told.

After the first evening's sitting, Pryderi turned to Manawyddan. 'I have heard,' said Pryderi to his host, 'that the hunting runs of Dyfed are unmatched by any in the world.'

'Then you must heartily thank the one who told you, for truer words were never spoken.'

'Perhaps we might hunt together, you and I,' suggested Pryderi.

'Why, Cousin, we could go hunting tomorrow – that is, if nothing prevents you,' replied Manawyddan.

'Indeed, I thought I should grow old in waiting for you to ask,' said Pryderi happily. 'As it happens, nothing prevents me. Let us go tomorrow.'

On that very morrow, the two friends set out with a company of bold companions. They hunted all the day and at last stopped to rest and water their weary horses. While they waited, they climbed a nearby mound and lay down to sleep. As they slept, there came the sound of thunder; very loud thunder it was, so they awoke. And with the thunder came a thick, dark mist – so thick and so dark that no man could see his companion next to him.

When the mist finally lifted, it was bright everywhere, so that they bunked their eyes and put up their hands. When they lowered their hands once more, however, they looked out and saw that everything had changed. No more were there trees or rivers or flocks or dwellings. No animal, no smoke, no fire, no man, nothing save the hills, and those were empty, too.

'Alas, lord!' cried Manawyddan, 'What has become of our company and the rest of my kingdom? Let us go and find them if we can.'

They returned to Manawyddan's palace and found only briars and thorns in the place where his sparkling hall had been. In vain they searched the valleys and glens, trying to spot a dwelling or settlement, but only a few sickly birds did they see. And they both began to feel mournful for their loss – Manawyddan for his wife Rhiannon, who was waiting for him in their chamber, and all his brave company as well; and Pryderi for his companions and the fine gifts Manawyddan had given him.

There was nothing to be done, so they kindled a fire with the briar thickets and slept that night hungry on the cold, hard ground. In the morning they heard the sound of dogs barking, as dogs will when the scent of game inflames them.

'What can that mean?' wondered Pryderi.

'Why stand here wondering when we can find out?' said Manawyddan and leaped up at once to saddle his horse.

They rode in the direction of the sound and came to a birch copse in a hidden glen. At their approach a score of fine hunting hounds came racing from the copse, shaking violently with fear, their tails low between their haunches. 'Unless I miss my guess,' remarked Pryderi upon seeing the dogs, 'some enchantment lies upon this little wood.'

No sooner had he spoken these same words, when out of the copse burst a shining white boar. The dogs cowered to see it, but after much urging, took up the trail and ran after it. The men followed until they drew near to where the boar stood at bay against the hounds.

Upon seeing the men, the white boar broke free and ran off once more. Again the men gave chase and again found the boar at bay against the hounds, and again the boar broke free when they came near.

Well, they pursued the boar until they came to a great fortress which neither of them had ever seen before, and they marvelled to see it. The hounds and the boar ran inside the stronghold and though the two men listened for the dog's barking, as long as they stayed they heard not a sound more.

'Lord,' said Pryderi, 'If you will, I shall enter this fortress and seek what has become of the dogs.'

'Lieu knows that is not a good idea,' replied Manawyddan. 'Neither you nor I have ever seen this fortress before, and if you ask my counsel, it is this: stay far from this strange place. It may be that whoever has placed the enchantment on the land has caused this fortress to appear.'

'It may be as you say, but I am loath to give up those fine hounds.' So, Manawyddan's good advice notwithstanding, Pryderi urged his reluctant horse forward and entered the gate of the fortress which was before them.

Once inside, however, he could see neither man nor beast nor boar nor dogs nor hall nor chamber. What he did discover was a great stand of marble stone. And hanging above the stand by four golden chains, whose ends extended upward so that he could not see any end to them, was a huge bowl of the finest gold he had ever seen, and Pryderi was no stranger to fine gold.

He approached the marble stand and saw Rhiannon, Manawyddan's wife, standing still as the stone itself, her hand touching the bowl.

'Lady,' said Pryderi, 'what do you here?'

As she made no answer, and as the bowl was of dazzling beauty, Pryderi thought no ill and came to where she stood and put his hands on the bowl. In the selfsame instant that he touched the bowl his hands stuck to the bowl and his feet stuck to the stand, and there he stood as one made of stone.

Awhile and awhile Manawyddan waited, but Pryderi did not return, and neither did the dogs. 'Well,' he said to himself, 'there is nothing to be done but go in after him.' And in he went.

There he saw, as Pryderi had seen, the magnificent golden bowl hanging by its golden chains. He saw his wife Rhiannon with her hand to the bowl, and Pryderi likewise. 'Lady wife,' he said, 'friend Pryderi, what do you here?'

Neither made to answer him, but his words provoked a response nonetheless, for no sooner had he spoken than the sound of a very great thunder echoed through the mysterious fortress and the mist rose up thick and dark. When it cleared, Rhiannon, Pryderi, the golden bowl and indeed the fortress itself were gone and not to be seen any more.

'Woe to me,' cried Manawyddan when he saw what had happened. 'I am all alone now with neither companions nor even dogs for company. Lieu knows I do not deserve such a fate as this. What shall I do?'

There was nothing to be done but go on with his life as best he could. He fished the streams and caught wild game, and began to till the soil, using a few grains of wheat he had in his pocket. The wheat flourished and in time he had enough to sow an entire field, and then another, and another. Great the wonder of it, for the wheat was the finest the world had ever seen!

Manawyddan bided his time and waited out the seasons until at last the wheat was so ripe he could almost taste the bread he would make. So, looking at his wonderful crop, he said to himself, 'I am a fool if I do not reap this tomorrow.'

He returned to his bothy to sharpen his wheat knife. The next morning when he came in the grey dawn to harvest his long-awaited crop, he found only naked stalks standing in the field. Each stalk had been snapped off where the ear joins to the stem and the grain carried off, leaving only stubble behind.

Much distressed, Manawyddan ran to the next field and saw that all was as it should be. He examined the grain, which had ripened nicely. 'I am a fool if I do not reap this field tomorrow,' he said to himself.

He slept lightly that night and awoke with the break of day to reap his grain. Upon coming to the field, he saw that, as before, only naked stalks remained. The grain had been carried off. 'Alas!' he cried. 'What enemy is doing this to me? Lieu knows he is completing my downfall. If this keeps on I will be destroyed and all the land with me!'

With that Manawyddan hastened to his last remaining field. And behold, it was ripe and ready to be harvested. 'I am a fool if I do not reap this field tomorrow,' he said to himself, 'more, I will be a dead fool, for this is my last hope.'

And he sat down right where he was, intending to watch through the night and so catch the enemy that was destroying him. Manawyddan watched, and towards midnight what must have been the greatest uproar in the world reached his ears. He looked and saw the greatest host of mice ever assembled, so large a host he could scarce believe his eyes.

Before he could move the mice had fallen upon the field, each one scaling a stalk and nipping off the ear and carrying off the grain in its mouth, leaving only a naked stalk behind. Manawyddan rushed to the rescue of his field, but the mice might have been midges for all he could catch them.

One mouse, however, was heavier than all the others and could not move so quickly. Manawyddan pounced upon it and put it in his glove. He tied the opening with string and took the mouse prisoner back to his bothy. 'Well, as I would hang the thief that has ruined me,' he said to the mouse, 'Lieu help me, I will hang you.'

The next morning Manawyddan went out to the mound where this whole misadventure had begun, taking the mouse in the glove. And there he set two forked sticks upright in the ground at the highest part of the mound.

All at once a man appeared, riding by the foot of the mound on a thin-shanked horse. The man's clothes were worse than rags and he appeared a beggar. 'Lord, good day to you,' the beggarman called out.

Manawyddan turned to observe him. 'Lieu be good to you,' he replied. 'These past seven years I have seen not one man in all my kingdom, save yourself this very moment.'

'Well, I am only passing through these desolate lands,' the beggar told him. 'If it please you, lord, what work are you about?'

'I am executing a thief.'

'What son of thief? The creature I see in your hand looks very like a mouse to me. It is scarcely fitting for a man of your exalted position to touch an animal like that. Surely, you will let it go.'

'Between you and me and Lieu, I will not!' said Mana-wyddan hotly. This mouse, and his brothers, have brought about my destruction. I mean to execute punishment upon it before I starve to death, and the judgement is hanging.'

The beggar went on his way and Manawyddan set about fixing a stick for the crossbeam between two forks. He had done this when a voice hailed him from below the mound. 'Good day to you, lord!'

'Lieu smite' me if this is not becoming a busy place,' muttered Manawyddan to himself. He looked around and saw a fine noblewoman sitting on a grey palfrey at the foot of the mound.

'Good day to you, lady,' he called back to her. 'What brings you here?'

'I was only riding by when I saw you toiling up here. What work are you about?' she asked full politely.

'I am hanging a thief,' explained Manawyddan, 'if that is anything to you.'

'Indeed, it is nothing to me,' said the lady, 'but the thief appears to be a mouse. Still, I should say punish it by all means were it not so demeaning to a man of your obvious rank and dignity to hold commerce with such a low creature.'

'What would you have me do?' asked Manawyddan suspiciously.

'Rather than see you disgrace yourself further, I will give you a coin of gold to let it go.' She smiled winsomely as she said this and Manawyddan was almost persuaded.

'You speak well for this sorry mouse, but I am determined to end the life of the creature that has ended mine.'

'Very well, lord,' replied the lady haughtily, 'do as you wish.'

Manawyddan returned to his grim task, and taking the string from the glove, he tied one end around the mouse's neck. And as he drew the creature up to the crossbeam, there came a shout from the foot of the mound. 'Not a freckle on a face have I seen in seven years to this day, and now I am accosted at every turn,' he grumbled.

So saying, he turned around to meet an Archdruid with a score of ovates as retinue ranged behind him. 'Lieu give you good day,' said the Archdruid. 'What sort of work is my lord about?'

'If you must know, I am hanging a thief which has brought about my destruction,' replied Manawyddan.

'Forgive me, but you must be a fragile man indeed. For that appears to be a mouse in your hand.'

'It is a thief and destroyer, nonetheless,' snapped Manawyddan. 'Not that I should have to explain myself to you.'

'I require no explanation,' the Archdruid told him. 'But it grieves me full well to see a man of your obvious renown exacting punishment on a helpless creature.'

'Helpless is it? Where were you when this mouse and its myriad companions were devastating my fields and bringing about my demise?'

'As you are a reasonable man,' said the Archdruid, 'allow me to redeem the worthless creature. I will give you seven gold pieces to let it go.'

Manawyddan shook his head firmly. 'That will not do. I will not sell the mouse for any amount of gold.'

'Still, it is not seemly for a man of your rank to kill mice in this way,' countered the Archdruid. 'Therefore, let me give you seventy pieces of gold.'

'Shame on me if I sell it for twice that amount of gold!'

The Archdruid would not be put off. 'Nevertheless, good lord, I will not see you defile yourself by harming that animal. I will give you a hundred horses and a hundred men and a hundred fortresses.'

'I was lord of thousands,' replied Manawyddan. 'How should I take less than what I had?'

'As you will not accept that,' the Archdruid said, 'please name your price that I may meet it.'

'Well, there is a thing which might persuade me.'

'Name it and it is yours.'

'I wish the release of Rhiannon and Pryderi.'

'You shall have that,' promised the Archdruid.

'Between me and Lieu, that is not all.'

'What else then?'

'I wish the removal of the spell of enchantment from the realm of Dyfed and all my holdings.'

'You shall have that as well, only release the mouse unharmed.'

Manawyddan nodded slowly and looked into his hand. That I will do, only first I will know what this mouse is to you.'

The Archdruid sighed. 'Very well, you have the better of me. She is my wife – otherwise I would not ransom her.'

'Your wife!' cried Manawyddan. 'Am I to believe such a thing?'

'Believe it, lord, for it is true. I am the one who laid the enchantment upon your lands.'

'Who are you that you should seek my destruction?"

'I am Hen Dallpen, Chief of Druids in the Island of the Mighty,' replied the Archdruid. 'I acted against you out of revenge.'

'How so? What have I ever done to you?' For indeed, Manawyddan could think of nothing he had ever done to anger any man, be he priest or druid.

'You took the kingship of Bran the Blessed, and in this you did not obtain the blessing of the Learned Brotherhood. Therefore, I took it upon myself to enchant your kingdom, which I did.'

'I will say you did,' grumbled Manawyddan unhappily. 'What of my fields?'

'When some of those wlio follow me learned of the wheat, they begged me to turn them into mice in order that they might destroy your fields. The third night my own wife went with them, and she was heavy with child – although if she had not been so, you would not have caught her. But since she was and you did, I will give you Rhiannon and Pryderi and lift the spell from Dyfed and all your lands.' The Archdruid finished by saying, 'Now I have told you all, please release my wife.'

Manawyddan glared at the Chief Druid, 'I am a fool if I let her go now.'

'What else do you wish?' sighed the Archdruid. 'Tell me and let there be an end to this matter between us.'

'I wish that once the enchantment has been removed from the land there will never be another spell cast.'

– 'You have my most solemn promise. Now will you let the mouse go?'

'Not yet,' stated Manawyddan firmly.

The Archdruid sighed. 'Are we to be at this all day? What else do you require?'

'One thing else,' replied Manawyddan. 'I require that no revenge be taken because of what has happened here – neither on Rhiannon, or Pryderi, or my lands, or people, or possessions, or the creatures under my care.' He looked squarely in the Archdruid's eyes. 'Or upon myself.'

'A cunning thought, Lieu knows. For indeed, had you not struck on that at last, you would have suffered far worse than anything you have suffered until now and all harm would be on your own head.'

Manawyddan shrugged. 'A man must protect himself however he can.'

'Now release my wife.'

'That I will not do until I see Rhiannon and Pryderi coming towards me with glad greetings.'

'Then look if you will,' said the Archdruid wearily. "They are coming even now.'

Pryderi and Rhiannon appeared; Manawyddan hurried to meet them and they greeted him gladly and began to speak of what had happened to them all.

'I have done all you asked, and more than I would have done had you not asked,' implored the Archdruid. 'Do the one thing I have asked and release my wife.'

'Gladly,' replied Manawyddan. And he opened his hand and the mouse ran free.

The Archdruid scooped it up and whispered some words in the ancient secret tongue into the mouse's ear, and instantly the mouse began to change back into a comely woman whose belly swelled with the child she was carrying.

Manawyddan looked around the land and saw that every house and holding was back where it should be, complete with herds and flocks. And all the people were back where they should be, so that the land was inhabited as once before. Indeed, it was as if nothing had changed at all.

Only Manawyddan knew differently.

Here ends the Mabinogi of Manawyddan, my friend Wolf. Yes, it is a sad story in many of its parts. But I think you will agree that its end redeems.

What is that you say? Yes, there is more to it than fust appears. How astute you are, O Wise Wolf. Of course, there is always more than meets the eye, or ear. This tale conceals a secret at its heart.

He that has ears to hear, let him hear!