When Kicva the daughter of Gwynn Gloyw 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 mere pure than that which I will bear thee, as long as Heaven will that thou shouldst be thus. 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,” said he, “for Heaven is my witness that thou shalt meet with all the friendship thou canst wish, and that it is in my power to show thee, as long as it shall please Heaven to continue us in this grief and woe.”
“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 we cannot get food. Let us go into Lloegyr; it is easiest for us to find support there.”
“Gladly, lord,” said she, “we will do so.” And they set forth together to Lloegyr.
“Lord,” said she, “what craft wilt thou follow? Take up one that is seemly.”
“None other will I take,” answered he, “save that of making shoes, as I did formerly.”
“Lord,” said she, “such a craft becomes not a man so nobly born as thou.”
“By that however will I abide,” said he.
So he began his craft, and he made all his work of the finest leather he could get in the town, and, as he had done at the other place, he caused gilded clasps to be made for the shoes. And except himself all the cordwainers in the town were idle, and without work. For as long as they could be had from him, neither shoes nor hose were bought elsewhere. And thus they tarried there a year, until the cordwainers became envious, and took counsel concerning him. 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 to Dyved, 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 grey 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 from off 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. “Oh, 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.” So he took his arms, and began to watch the croft. 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, lo, there arose the loudest tumult in the world. And he looked, and behold the mightiest host of mice in the world, which could neither be numbered nor 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 stalk 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 in 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 thief may it be, lord, that thou couldst put into thy glove?” said she.
“Behold I will tell thee,” he answered. Then he showed her how his fields had been wasted and destroyed, and 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, and before Heaven, if I had them, I would hang them all.”
“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. And if thou doest right, thou wilt not meddle with the creature, but wilt let it go.”
“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 succour this reptile, except to prevent discredit unto thee. Do therefore, lord, as thou wilt.”
“If I knew of any cause in the world wherefore thou shouldst succour it, I would take thy counsel concerning it,” said Manawyddan, “but as I know of none, lady, I am minded to destroy it.”
“Do so willingly then,” said she.
And then he went to the Gorsedd of Narberth, taking the mouse with him. And he set up two forks on the highest part of the Gorsedd. 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 Lloegyr; 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, “by Heaven, neither will I sell it.”
“As thou wilt, lord,” he answered; “except that I would not see a man of rank equal to thine touching such a reptile, I care nought.” And the scholar went his way.
And as he was placing the crossbeam 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 at. As it ought, so shall it be hanged.”
“Willingly, lord, do thy good pleasure.” 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 a bishop’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.”
“Aye,” 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 set 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, do so at what price soever thou wilt.”
“I will do so,” said he. “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. “I will know who the mouse may be.”
“She is my wife.”
“Even though she be, I will not set her free. Wherefore came she to me?”
“To despoil thee,” he answered. “I am Llwyd the son of Kilcoed, and I cast the charm over the seven Cantrevs of Dyved. And it was to avenge Gwawl the son of Clud, from the friendship I had towards him, that I cast the charm. And upon Pryderi did I revenge Gwawl the son of Clud, for the game of Badger in the Bag, that Pwyll Pen Annwvyn played upon him, which he did unadvisedly in the Court of Heveydd Hên. 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 it was my own household that went the first night. And the second night also they went, and they destroyed thy two crofts. And the third night came unto me my wife and the ladies of the Court, and besought me to transform them. And I transformed them. Now she is pregnant. And had she not been pregnant thou wouldst not have been able to overtake her; but since this has taken place, and she has been caught, I will restore thee Pryderi and Rhiannon; and I will take the charm and illusion from off Dyved. I have now told thee who she is. Set her therefore free.”
“I will not set her free, by Heaven,” said he.
“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.”
“This thou shalt have,” said he. “Now set her free.”
“I will not, by my faith,” he answered.
“What wilt thou furthermore?” asked he.
“Behold,” said he, “this will I have; 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 lighted all this trouble.”
“Yea,” said he, “for fear thereof was it, that I required this.”
“Set now my wife at liberty.”
“I will not, by Heaven,” 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 Llwyd struck her with a magic wand, and she was changed back into a young woman, the fairest ever seen.
“Look around upon thy land,” said he, “and then thou wilt see it all tilled and peopled, as it was in its best state.” And he rose up and looked forth. And when he looked he saw all the lands tilled, and full of herds and dwellings.
“What bondage,” he inquired, “has there been upon Pryderi and Rhiannon?”
“Pryderi has had the knockers of the gate of my palace about his neck, and Rhiannon has had the collars of the asses, after they have been carrying hay, about her neck.”
And such had been their bondage.
And by reason of this bondage is this story called the Mabinogi of Mynnweir and Mynord.
And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogi.