'Oh? Indeed?' she queried, her eyes alight with anger. 'Has it not yet occurred to you that the boy was caught only because he was following you?'
Bran drew breath to reply but, realizing she was right, closed his mouth again and turned away from her scorn.
When Bran did not answer, the old woman said, 'Too late you show wisdom, O King. Too late for Will Scarlet. Go now to your rest, and before you sleep, pray for the man whose trust you have betrayed this night. Pray God to keep him and uphold him in the midst of his enemies.'
That is exactly what Bran did. Miserable in his failure, he prayed the comfort of Christ for Will Scarlet, that the All-sustaining Spirit would keep his friend safe until he could be rescued or redeemed.
The next morning, Lord Bran gathered the Grellon and formally confessed his failure: they had not succeeded in taking the sheriff, and Will Scarlet had been captured instead. Noin, who already knew the worst, did not join the others, but remained in her hut taking consolation with Merian. Bran went to her to beg forgiveness and offer reassurance. 'We will not rest until we have secured Will's release,' he promised.
Angharad soon learned of the vow and cautioned, 'The sentiment is noble, but word and deed are not one. It will be long ere this vow is fulfilled.'
'Why?' he asked. 'What do you know?'
'Only that wishing does not make doing easier, my impetuous lord. If our Will is to be rescued, then you must become wiser than the wisest serpent.'
'What does that mean?'
By way of reply, Angharad simply said, 'I will tell you tonight. When the sun begins to set, summon the Grellon to council.'
So as twilight claimed the forest stronghold, the men stoked the fire in the fire ring, and the people of Cel Craidd gathered once more to hear what their wise banfaith had to say.
As Angharad took up her harp, the children crowded close around her feet, but their elders, apprehensive and fearful now, did not join them in their youthful eagerness. Will's fate cast a pall over everyone old enough to understand the likely outcome of his capture, and every thought was on the captive this night.
Looking out upon her audience, Angharad saw the faces grim in the reflected fire glow; and they seemed to her in this moment not faces at all, but empty vessels into which she would pour the elixir of the song which was more than a song. They would hear and, God willing, the story would work in their hearts and minds to produce its rare healing fruit.
As silence descended over the beleaguered group, she began to strum the harp strings, letting the notes linger and shimmer in the air, casting lines of sound into the gathering darkness-lines by which she would ensnare the souls of her listeners and draw them into the story realm where they could be shaped and changed. When at last she judged the fortuitous moment had arrived, she began.
'After the Battle of the Cauldron, when the men of Britain conquered the men of Ireland,' she began, her voice quavering slightly, but gathering strength as she sang, 'the head of Bran the Blessed was carried back to the Island of the Mighty and safely buried on the White Hill, facing east, to protect forever his beloved Albion.'
Recognition flickered among some of the older forest dwellers as the familiar names of long ago tugged at the chords of memory. Angharad smiled and, closing her eyes, began the tale known as 'Manawyddan's Revenge.' As the warriors made their farewells and departed for their homes, Manawyddan, chief of battle, gazed down from the hill upon the muddy village of Lundein, and at his companions, and gave a sigh of deepest regret. 'Woe is me,' said he. 'Woe upon woe.'
'My lord,' said Pryderi, a youth who was his closest companion, 'why do you sigh so?'
'Since you ask, I will tell you,' replied Manawyddan. 'The reason is this: every man has a place of his own tonight except one only-and that one happens to be me.'
'Pray do not be unhappy,' answered Pryderi. 'Remember, your cousin is king of the Island of the Mighty, and although he may do you wrong, you have never asked him for anything, though well you might.'
'Aye,' agreed the chieftain, 'though that man is my kinsman, I find it somewhat sad to see anyone in the place of our dead comrade, and I could never be happy sharing so much as a pigsty with him.'
'Then will you allow me to suggest another plan?' asked Pryderi.
'If you have another plan,' answered Manawyddan, 'I will gladly hear it.'
'As it happens, the seven cantrefs of Dyfed have been left to me,' said young Pryderi. 'It may please you to know that Dyfed is the most pleasant corner of our many-coloured realm. My mother, Rhiannon, lives there and is awaiting my return.'
'Then why do we linger here, feeling sorry for ourselves, when we could be in Dyfed?'
'Wait but a little and hear the rest. My mother has been a widow for seven years now, and grows lonely,' explained the youth. 'I will commend you to her if you would only woo her; and wooing, win her; and winning her, wed her. For the day you wed my mother, the sovereignty of Dyfed will be yours. And though you may never possess more domains than those seven cantrefs, there are no cantrefs in all of Britain any better. Indeed, if you had the choice of any realm in all the world, you would surely have chosen those same seven cantrefs for your own.'
'I do not desire anything more,' replied Manawyddan, inspired by the generosity of his friend. 'I will come with you to see Rhiannon and this realm of which you boast so highly. Moreover, I will trust God to repay your kindness. As for myself, the best friendship I can offer will be yours, if you wish it.'
'I wish nothing more, my friend,' Pryderi said. And the next morning, as the red sun peeped above the rim of the sea, they set off. They had not travelled far when Manawyddan asked his friend to tell him more about his mother.
'Well, it may be the love of a son speaking here,' said the young warrior, 'but I believe you have never yet met a woman more companionable than she. When she was in her prime, no woman was as lovely as Queen Rhiannon; and even now you will not be disappointed with her beauty.'
So they continued on their way, and however long it was that they were on the road, they eventually reached Dyfed. Behold! There was a feast ready for them in Arberth, where Cigfa, Pryderi's own dear wife, was awaiting his return. Pryderi greeted his wife and mother, then introduced them to his sword brother, the great Manawyddan. And was it not as Pryderi had said? For, in the battle chief 's eyes, the youth had only told the half: Rhiannon was far more beautiful than he had allowed himself to imagine-more beautiful, in fact, than any woman he had seen in seven years, with long dark hair and a high, noble forehead, lips that curved readily in a smile, and eyes the colour of the sky after a rain.
During the feast, Manawyddan and Rhiannon sat down together and began to talk, and from that conversation the chieftain's heart and mind warmed to her, and he felt certain that he had never known a woman better endowed with beauty and intelligence than she. 'Pryderi,' he said, leaning near his friend, 'you were right in everything you said, but you only told me the half.'
Rhiannon overheard them talking. 'And what was it that you said, my son?' she asked.
'Lady,' said Pryderi, 'if it pleases you, I would see you married to my dear friend Manawyddan, son of Llyr, an incomparable champion and most loyal of friends.'
'I like what I see of him,' she answered, blushing to admit it, 'and if your friend feels but the smallest part of what I feel right now, I will take your suggestion to heart.'
The feast continued for three days, and before it had ended the two were pledged to one another. Before another three days had passed, they were wed. Three days after the wedding, they began a circuit of the seven cantrefs of Dyfed, taking their pleasure along the way.
As they wandered throughout the land, Manawyddan saw that the realm was exceedingly hospitable, with hunting second to none, and fertile fields bountiful with honey, and rivers full of fish. When the wedding circuit was finished, they returned to Arberth to tell Pryderi and Cigfa all they had seen. They sat down to enjoy a meal together and had just dipped their flesh forks into the cauldron when suddenly there was a clap of thunder, and before anyone could speak, a fall of mist descended upon the entire realm so that no one could see his hand before his face, much less anyone else.
After the mist, the heavens were filled with shining light of white and gold. And when they looked around they found that where before there were flocks and herds and dwellings, now they could see nothing at all: neither house, nor livestock, nor kinfolk, nor dwellings. They saw nothing at all except the empty ruins of the court, broken and deserted and abandoned. Gone were the people of the realm, gone the sheep and cattle. There was no one
