Introductory Words
The Third Branch of the Mabinogi is often considered the strangest: it doesn’t so obviously fit in with the other three stories in terms of its feel. It is harder to tell as a serious tale, and although the other three are thick with supernatural elements, this one feels to me more playfully fantasical in the way of a children’s story.
In the written form that we have been given it, it is perhaps most clearly the one of the four that demands to be told aloud, containing the repetitive and predictable elements that allow an audience to anticipate the flow. As a result, what I have done here is to present the tale as a story being told. This has allowed me to exaggerate the repetition, in the way that my own father did when telling shaggy dog’s tales when I was a child.
Most of what I have written here follows the story as we’ve been given it, but I would remind the reader that this is not a translation but an interpretation: a free telling of the tale.
The Tale
“Tell me a story?”
Putting down his mug of tea, feigning a show of reluctance, he lifted me up with a groan and repositioned me on his lap. “Oh alright, if you insist.” We’re were sitting on the broad window seat looking out over the moor, an endless landscape of rolling hills, dark heather and drizzling rain. As so often, I looked up into his face, filled with expectation. He smiled.
“This,” he said dramatically, “is the story of your great great grandfather and his best friend, and how they managed to mislay a kingdom and almost kill a mouse.”
“Was it my great great grandfather’s kingdom?”
“Well, sort of,” he took a slurp of tea and put the mug back down. “The truth is that he could have been a king, but he wasn’t, and in fact it was his best friend’s land that he lost, not his, and his best friend was a prince, but – ” he frowned and lifted a finger to punctuate the moment, “but it’s a complicated story, so let’s begin at the beginning.”
I sighed, laying my head on his chest, feeling the warmth of the hearth fire, the pattering of rain, and the comfortable familiarity of my father’s voice.
“Now, in the time of your great great grandfather there had been a terrible war between the British and the Irish. Countless men and women had been killed, the last part of the war being over in Ireland, but it wasn’t just the fighting that had exhausted them. On returning to Britain, they’d had this magical task to carry out in order to ensure that Britain was never in danger again. The story I’m going to tell you takes place just after that extraordinary and exciting adventure, when life is just starting to look a bit dull again.
“Now, it was Manawydan, your great great grandfather, who was one of the lads who’d been off fighting, then being very busy with this essential task that needed to be done on behalf of the kingdom. Where we begin is with him sitting in a pub in London, with his friend, Pryderi – the prince, I mentioned – looking out at the rain and sipping on his ale. They’d had quite a few mugs of ale, being a bit bored, and were wondering what to do. You can imagine, when life has been filled with bloodcurdling adventure and surreal momentous quests, when it’s all over you can feel a little low. Not only is Manawydan a bit bored after the excitement, but his cousin Caswallon, who none of the family much liked, had taken over the kingdom that should have been his.
“They’ve had the conversation, Pryderi and some of the other lads, wondering whether to try and get the kingdom back from Caswallon, but as I’ve said before, they were tired, worn out, and though life suddenly looked a little dull, they really weren’t enthused about starting another war. In fact, Manawydan couldn’t even face going to see Caswallon, and sitting there in the pub in London he wondered where on earth he should go.
“Pryderi was a good bloke, by all accounts, and he had an idea. His father had died not that long before, and had left him, along with the title of prince, seven cantrefs (districts) down in south west Wales. He told Manawydan all about the rich, green, fertile landscape of his home and said, ‘Come with me back to Dyfed. You could meet my mum.’ And he told him all about his mother, how beautiful she used to be and how she was still an extraordinary and intelligent woman, and how he’d be happy if Manawydan would look after her and the land while he carried on travelling. Manawydan’s soul picked up a little and he agreed to take the trip with him, grateful that he had such a friend as Pryderi.
“In those days it took a few weeks to get from London to Dyfed, but they made the journey, on fast horses and on slow horses, on stony roads and on muddy roads, through cold rain and wild wind and warm sunny days, until eventually they arrived at the Court of Arberth, where Pryderi’s mother, Rhiannon, and his wife, Cygfa, were very pleased to see them. Now Rhiannon was indeed still a very beautiful woman, with long golden hair like the sunshine in the barley, and deep green eyes that seemed to see right into everything.”
“What was Cygfa like?” I interrupted.
“Cygfa? Cygfa was lovely but quite different. She had big round breasts and a big round bottom and a big round face that was always, always chattering and giggling, which is probably why Pryderi went off to war. But the two women were so pleased to see them that they put on an enormous feast with twenty seven courses. In fact, it had so many courses that it took days to eat. And during the feast, Manawydan and Rhiannon glanced at each other, and looked at each other, and talked to each other, and laughed with each other, and got closer and closer until everyone saw that they were in love. Manawydan smiled at Pryderi and said, ‘I’d like to take up the offer you gave me in London’. Rhiannon asked what they were talking about, and Pryderi said he’d asked Manawydan to stay at Arberth with her. And Rhiannon smiled, happy to have him beside her.
“Pryderi thought about going to pay his respects to the king, Caswallon, but Rhiannon told him he was at the farthest shores of the kingdom, over in Kent, so Pryderi stayed, and the four of them drifted through long days of relaxing, talking, strolling through the meadows, of going hunting, riding, laughing and feasting. Dyfed was as rich in game and fish and honey as Pryderi had told Manawydan it was, and they were happy for a long time, growing closer in each others’ company. When Caswallon was at his court in Oxford, Pryderi took leave of the party, taking the necessary time to pay his respects. The king welcomed him, thanking him for coming, and Pryderi returned with the knowledge that he’d done the right thing. At Arberth, on the other hand, Manawydan was quite happy taking no notice of the world beyond his own pleasure.
“One night, in the midst of one of their great languid feasts, the four of them decided to walk in the evening light, and they found themselves heading for Gorsedd Arberth, the ancient burial mound where Pryderi’s father had first seen Rhiannon. Whether they were eager to see if something magical might happen, or if they’d had too much ale and weren’t thinking straight, the old story doesn’t tell us. But no sooner had they walked up the mound and begun surveying the beauty of the landscape in the sunset, than there was a crashing of thunder all around them. Cygfa squealed and ran into Pryderi’s arms, but instead of rain, there came a mist so thick it was hard to see each other. When it lifted, the air was bright as if the full moon were shining – but it wasn’t. But that wasn’t the strangest thing: the entire landscape was suddenly deserted. Every cow, every sheep, every horse, every goat, every person but the four of them, had disappeared. Every shed, every shack, every hut, every house but for the court that stood beside them, had disappeared.
“Manawydan cried out, ‘What magic is this?!’ and Cygfa wined with fear, but the four of them made their way back to the court, searching for anyone and finding no one. Well, what could they do?”
My father picked up his mug of tea and for a moment he sipped, and I gazed out of the window at the moors that were all I could see. The houses hidden in the dips of the hills were suddenly no longer there, as I imagined a world where there was nobody at all but my dad and me. Putting down his tea, he continued as I stared out, wide eyed.
“Well, being noblemen and women in a land of plenty, the first thing they did was sit down and finish their feasting. With no bards, they had to tell their own tales and make their own music, but that they did, and they ate and drank, until it was time to sleep. After a few days, with nobody else appearing, and no domestic animals about, Pryderi and Manawydan went out hunting. I expect they collected wild blackberries and raspberries, and honey from the bees, and for two long years they lived like that.”
I remembered the deer and rabbits I’d seen on the moors, discounting the wild ponies, foxes and badgers as inedible, remembering the smell of the sparkling streams that cut through the heather, the crooked old hawthorns beside them, the slippy, shining fish. “Didn’t they get lonely?”
“Well, it was Manawydan who decided they should try something else. Growing tired of their lifestyle the others agreed, and they headed east towards England. It was a long journey and they travelled on fast horses and on slow horses, on stony roads and on muddy roads, through cold rain and wild wind and warm sunny days, until eventually they arrived at the town of Hereford. There Manawydan decided to take up saddlemaking. He was good at it, very good at it, shaping the pommels and colouring them with blue enamel as he’d been shown by a wild fellow, Llasar Llaesgyngwyd, who he’d met before the war. In fact, truth be known, he was too good at it, because soon nobody was buying saddles except saddles made by your great great grandfather, and rumours started to spread that the other saddlemakers were going to kill him. Pryderi dismissed the threats, saying, ‘They’re just churls, we should simply kill them – ’ ”
“What’s a churl?”
“A churl is an ordinary bloke, a peasant. Pryderi still had a strong sense of himself as a nobleman, a prince, even though they’d been pretending to be craftsmen. But Manawydan was nervous of getting into trouble. He’d not paid his respects to his cousin, the king, and that wasn’t going to hang in his favour. So one night the four of them sneaked away. And they journeyed on, seeking another place to stop, and they went on fast horses and on slow horses, on stony roads and on muddy roads – ”
“ – through cold rain and wild wind and warm sunny days,” I joined in.
“Exactly, until eventually they arrived at another big town. There Pryderi asked what craft they should try and Manawydan decided to take up shieldmaking. And he was good at it, very good at it, crafting the shields and colouring them with blue enamel as he’d been shown by that wild fellow, Llasar Llaesgyngwyd, who he’d met before the war. In fact, truth be known, he was too good at it, because soon nobody was buying shields except shields made by your great great grandfather. And rumours started to spread that the other shield makers had decided to kill him.
“Well, Pryderi dismissed the threats, saying, ‘They’re just churls, we should simply kill them,’ but Manawydan was nervous, and persuaded them once again that the best move was simply to sneak out of town. And so they did, and they journeyed on in search of another place to live, and they went on fast horses and on slow horses – ”
“ – on stony roads and on muddy roads, through cold rain and wild wind and warm sunny days – ” we said together.
“ – until eventually they arrived at yet another big town. And there Pryderi asked what craft they knew, and Manawydan suggested they take up something new: how about shoemaking? He was quite sure that shoemakers were too gentle a breed to turn on them as the other craftsmen had. So they took up shoemaking, Manawydan teaching Pryderi, and they were good at it, very good at it. They used the finest Spanish leather and made a deal with the local goldsmiths, so their shoes had the finest golden buckles, and if the truth be known, they were good at it, too good at it, Manawydan cutting the leather and Pryderi stitching it, and soon nobody was buying boots or shoes except those made by your great great grandfather. And rumours started to spread that the other shoemakers had decided to kill him.
“Well, Pryderi was sick of the threats, saying, ‘They’re just thieving churls, we should simply kill them!’ but Manawydan was nervous, and persuaded them once again that the best move was simply to sneak out of town.”
I looked up at my father and smiled, already trying to imagine what they’d start making in the next town, but he raised his eyebrows, “This time they didn’t find another town, but instead Manawydan suggested they head back to Dyfed where life had been calm and without the threat of angry cobblers. So that’s where they went, travelling on stony roads and on muddy roads, through cold rain and wild wind and warm sunny days, until eventually they arrived back at the Court of Arberth, where it was still entirely deserted.
“And the four of them started the life they’d known before, hunting and fishing and gathering wild honey and berries. It was a strange life, because in a way they were doing what they would have done as nobles of the court, but in other ways it was not the same, lacking all the dignity of a life without servants and the rest of the court retinue.”
“They must have been a bit like savages,” I murmured.
“They must have been,” my father said softly. “And living like this, day to day, it was a whole year before anything of note really happened. That day, when Manawydan and Pryderi were out hunting, the dogs suddenly took fright, running back out of a hedgerow. And do you know what had frightened them? It was a huge white wild boar! The dogs were terrified, but as the boar kept backing away from the men they followed it, and it led them all the way to a fort they’d never seen before. Its tower was high and gleamed in the sunlight. Still backing away from them, the boar made its way in through the main gates, and the dogs followed. Pryderi immediately made a move to follow, but Manawydan wasn’t sure – it was clearly a magical place and anything could happen. Pryderi was determined he wouldn’t abandon his dogs, dogs that had helped keep them fed for a whole year, so off he ran, into the fort.
“The story tells that there was nothing in the fort, no buildings or people or domestic animals at all. The dogs and the boar were nowhere to be seen either. The only thing Pryderi saw was a beautiful well in the centre, surrounded by shining polished marble slabs, and above it was a bowl made of shimmering gold, suspended by four golden chains that appeared to reach right up into the sky. Pryderi, as curious and adventurous as ever, touched the bowl with both his hands, but both his hands stuck to it, and he found he was completely unable to make a sound.
“Evening was drawing in and Manawydan, waiting outside the fort, was increasingly worried about what had happened to his friend. He headed back to the court where Rhiannon quickly asked where her son and the dogs had got to. Manawydan told the story and – I’m not surprised, are you? – Rhiannon was very angry. ‘How could you have left him there?’ she demanded, and before Manawydan could reply, this woman he loved had charged out of the court and was heading for the fort to save her son.
“He followed but with Cygfa getting caught up in the brambles and tripping and crying, Rhiannon easily got ahead of him. When she found the magical tower, she went straight into the fort and seeing Pryderi hurried up to him, asking what on earth had happened. Pryderi, of course, couldn’t speak, not even to warn her, as she too reached out and touched the golden bowl, both her hands sticking to the bowl as she too lost her ability to make a sound.
“Just as Manawydan came close to the fort, the sun setting over the horizon, there was a crashing of thunder, that same magical mist fell all about them, and when it lifted the fort was completely gone, taking Pryderi and Rhiannon with it.
“You can imagine how Cygfa reacted!” My father chuckled, “Yes, she squealed and hollered and wobbled her big round breasts and her big round bottom and her big round face burst into tears. Manawydan was managing to get them into trouble again and again, and the girl was clearly worried about being left alone with him. But your great great grandfather wasn’t a bad man, and he tried to comfort the girl, telling her that he would be a good friend and not leave her. She was so distraught, she didn’t believe him, pushing him away, but again he tried to comfort the girl, telling her that he would be a valiant friend and always defend her. She still didn’t believe him, pushing him away, but again he tried to comfort the girl, telling her that he would be just a friend and not try to kiss her. This seemed to settle her down and they returned to the court to work out what to do next.
“With just the two of them and no dogs, staying at Arberth was going to be impossible, so Manawydan convinced her that they must leave, and so they did, and they journeyed on in search of another place to live, and they had no horses but went on – ” He paused, waiting for me to join in.
“ – stony roads and muddy roads, through cold rain and wild wind and warm sunny days – ” we said together.
“ – until eventually they came to England, arriving at a town they’d never been to before. And Cygfa asked Manawydan what craft he would take up, begging him to choose some clean skill that befitted his rank as a nobleman. But Manawydan took up shoemaking, much to Cygfa’s dismay. As he had done before, he used the finest Spanish leather and made a deal with the local goldsmiths, so his shoes had the finest golden buckles, and they lived there for a year, until his business was thriving. In fact, he was doing so well that nobody was buying boots or shoes except those made by your great great grandfather.”
This time I put in the next line: “And so all the other shoemakers decided to kill him.”
“Exactly,” my father nodded, altogether seriously. “And this time it was Cygfa who said, ‘They’re just churls, why don’t you kill them?’ but Manawydan was nervous, and persuaded her that the best thing to do would be to sneak out of town. This time, though, Manawydan took with him a new pack of dogs and enough wheat grain to sow three small fields, and he and Cygfa headed back to the deserted cantrefs of Dyfed.
“He was growing to love that land, down there in south west Wales, and his soul was glad as they approached the court. And carefully he cleared and tilled three small fields, and sowed them with the three bags of grain he had brought with him, and as they waited for the wheat to grow he and Cygfa lived off the wild animals of the land, the fish of the rivers and honey and berries they could find in the hedgerows.
“It was late in the summer of the following year that Manawydan walked down to the first of his fields and saw that it was ready to harvest. With a glad heart, he went back to the court to tell Cygfa. He sat down to sharpen his scythe, preparing to reap it the following day. But the following day, as the sun rose over the field, Manawydan arrived to see that every last ear had been cut from its stalk. Though each stalk still stood firm, not a grain was left. Shocked, he made his way to the second field, and was relieved to see that this wheat was now quite ready to harvest, and heading back to the court he determined to harvest it the very next day.
‘But the following morning, as the sun rose over the field, Manawydan arrived to see that every last ear had been cut from its stalk. Each stalk still stood firm, but not a grain was left. The shock bewildered him, and he made his way to the third of his fields. There, thankfully, he saw the field untouched, the wheat quite ready to harvest, and heading back to the court he determined to reap it the very next day.
“This time, he would not risk losing his harvest and, letting Cygfa know what he was planning, he set himself to watch the field all through the night. It was at around midnight that he heard the noise, like distant thunder, and not long after he spied the first mouse, then another, and another, until he realised that on every single stalk of wheat was a little brown field mouse, each one gnawing off the ear of grain ready to steal it away. Manawydan leapt at one and then another, and another, every time missing as the little creatures slipped out of his reach. Seeing one that was fatter than the rest, he grabbed it, and caught it, putting the little mouse into his glove and tying it tightly closed with string.”
As my father knew I would, I looked up into his face, most concerned about the fate of this little brown mouse. He hugged me and chuckled, “Well, what do you think Cygfa said?”
“I don’t suppose she liked mice.”
“You are quite right! Cygfa was horrified that Manawydan would be handling a mouse. Having demanded that he tell her the tale, she was even more concerned when he made it cear to her that he intended to hang the mouse for thievery the very next day. ‘It’s not proper for someone of your rank to be dealing with a mouse!’ she squealed, ‘let it go!’ But Manawydan was determined, declaring he would have hung every last one of them if he’d managed to catch them. At this point, Cygfa was probably glad that nobody else was about, so concerned was she that Manawydan was disgracing himself with the mouse, and she decided she had better go with him to limit the damage he was doing to his noble dignity.
“The next morning, the two of them, Manawydan carrying the mouse in his glove, made their way up to the ancient burial mound of Gorsedd Arberth. And perhaps they were hoping for some magical happening, but nothing that happens on that sacred place is what we are expecting. Indeed, Manawydan had just erected two wooden forks that were to make the gallows for the mouse when Cygfa noticed someone walking towards them. This was the first person they had seen in Dyfed for seven long years, and you can imagine how excited the girl must have been.” I imagined and grinned.
“As the person drew closer, they saw it was a fellow in threadbare clothes. He appeared to be a country vicar and he touched his hat and called out a greeting. Manawydan responded, saying, ‘Good day! Might I ask you where you have come from this day?’ Apparently the fellow was from England. He asked why they enquired and Manawydan explained that he was the first person they’d seen in that land for very many years. ‘What are you up to?’ the vicar asked, no doubt with the simple curiosity of a traveller. ‘I’m hanging a thief,’ Manawydan replied. ‘But,’ the vicar said, astounded, ‘that looks like a mouse! Forgive me for saying so, but it is not fitting for a man of your rank to be dealing with a mouse!’ Manawydan had had enough of this from Cygfa, and he said firmly, ‘I am dealing with the thief according to the law.’ Well, the vicar was quite upset by this shaking of propriety and offered to give Manawydan the money he had been given for charity – a pound – in order to let the little creature go, but Manawydan was resolute, saying, ‘I shall not sell it or let it go!’ The vicar tried one last time, expressing his concern about this nobleman dealing with a mouse, but his efforts were in vain and he turned, continuing his journey along the road.
“Manawydan was putting the little wooden beam across the top, forming the gallows for the mouse, when Cygfa squealed once more. Someone else was drawing towards them. Riding a good horse, as he approached it was clear that he was a priest. He greeted Manawydan and Cygfa, and Manawydan responded, asking for his blessing which the priest gladly gave. ‘And might I ask, what work are you engaged in?’ ‘I’m hanging a thief,’ Manawydan replied. ‘But,’ the priest said, suddenly horrified, ‘that looks like a mouse! Sir, it is not fitting for a man of your rank to be dealing with a mouse!’ Manawydan had had enough of this from Cygfa and the country vicar, and he said with determination, ‘I am dealing with the thief according to the law.’ The priest was quite alarmed by this shaking of propriety and offered to give Manawydan three pounds if he would let the little creature go. But Manawydan was resolute, saying, ‘I shall not sell it or let it go!’ The priest tried one last time, expressing his concern about this nobleman defiling himself by dealing with a mouse, but his efforts were in vain and he turned, continuing his journey along the road.
“Taking the mouse from his glove, Manawydan was putting the noose around the mouse’s neck when Cygfa once again squealed, this time more agitated than ever. Coming towards them along the road was a bishop in a carriage, with his retinue and baggage horses. Manawydan stood once again, calling his greeting, ‘Lord bishop, good day! May we have your blessing?’ When the party had come to a halt and the bishop had descended to the road, giving his blessing, he asked, ‘And what is it that you are you engaged in?’ ‘I’m hanging a thief,’ Manawydan replied. ‘But,’ the bishop said with disdain, ‘that looks like a mouse. It is not fitting for a man of your rank to be dealing with a mouse!’ Manawydan had had enough of this from Cygfa, the country vicar and the priest, and he stood up straight and said clearly, ‘I am dealing with the thief according to the law.’ The bishop was quite horrified by this shaking of propriety and offered to give Manawydan seven pounds if he would let the little creature go. But Manawydan was resolute, saying, ‘I shall not sell it or let it go!’ The bishop tried again, ‘Rather than see a man of your rank so debase yourself, I shall give you twenty four pounds for that mouse.’ Manawydan refused.
“Well, what do you think happened? Clearly this was important to the bishop, because he offered Manawydan every horse he could see and all the baggage carried by the seven horses in his entourage. Manawydan refused. ‘Then what is your price?’ the bishop asked, frustrated. Just how important this mouse was to the bishop hadn’t slipped past your great great grandfather, and he told him what he wanted in return for the life of that little brown mouse. ‘Give me back Pryderi and Rhiannon.’ “
I look up and he laughs, “And what do you think the bishop said? ‘Oh alright,’ he said reluctantly, ‘I can do that. Now please release the mouse.’ But Manawydan wasn’t satisfied. ‘Furthermore,’ he said, ‘you must remove the enchantment you have laid on Dyfed.’ ‘I can do that,’ said the bishop. ‘Now please release the mouse.’ By this point, Manawydan had to ask, ‘Who is this mouse?’ The bishop’s reply was not what he could have imagined: ‘She is my wife,’ he said, ‘that is why I must free her.’ ‘But why are you here? Why have you done this to me?’ And in response to these questions, the puzzle was resolved. ‘My name is Llwyd, son of Gil Coed,’ he said. ‘It was through friendship with Gwawl, son of Clud, that I laid an enchantment on the lands of Dyfed, in vengeance for the treatment of Gwawl at the hands of Pwyll, Pryderi’s father, in the court of Heffaid the Old. My people asked that I turn them into mice in order to steal your grain, and on the third night the women of the court asked that they too could join the thieving party, my pregnant wife included. That is my tale. Now I ask you to let her go.’ ”
“And what do you think Manawydan said? ‘No,’ he said, ‘I shall not, until you vow never to lay an enchantment upon the lands of Dyfed again.’ ‘To that I agree,’ said Llwyd. ‘And you must vow never to seek vengeance upon myself, Rhiannon or Pryderi again.’ At that the man bowed his head and nodded, ‘Yes, I agree to that. And it is a good thing that you have made that request, for otherwise this feud would have continued and it would have been bad for you.’
“Manawydan looked down at the little brown mouse, and when Llwyd asked once more, ‘Will you now release her?’ he said, ‘I shall do, but only when Rhiannon and Pryderi are before me.’ In a flash that seemed somehow to rent the air and leave it shimmering, his wife and his best friend were suddenly standing there with him on the grass of the ancient mound. Pryderi breathed deeply, looking around him for a moment before being violently enveloped by Cygfa. Rhiannon watched quietly as Manawydan set the mouse down on the grass; it scurried towards Llwyd and transformed, in an equal flash of light, into the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen. And he smiled, looking up at Llwyd, knowing why he would give up the feud for such a girl.
“As the girl made her way down the hill, what sounded like the crashing of distant thunder cracked the air and all around them Dyfed was restored: shed and shacks, huts and houses reappeared, with sheep, horses, cattle and goats in the fields, and people too. The spell was broken.
“Perhaps it was a little guilt, curiosity or uncertainty, but Manawydan had one more question and called it out to Llwyd as the other prepared to leave. ‘What was the nature of Rhiannon and Pryderi’s imprisonment?’ Llwyd paused, looking up at Manawydan on the mound. ‘Pryderi was transformed into the gate hammers at my court, and Rhiannon the asses’ collars after a day of pulling hay.’ With that he turned and, together with his wife and retinue, made his way off down the road.”
The light on the heather was by then softly fading, and my eyes followed the path of an owl flying low as I tried to hide a yawn. But when my father looked down at me and saw that I was frowning, he laughed. “What’s up, little one?”
“Who is Growl?”
“Gwawl? Ah, well, every good story leads you to another story. If you’ve not heard the story of Pwyll and Gwawl, you need to. But that’s for another day.”
Emma Restall Orr
June 2008