Scarlet

left in all Dyfed except the four of them, and Pryderi's pack of hunting dogs, which had been lying at their feet in the hall.

'What is this?' said Manawyddan. 'I greatly fear some terrible tribulation has befallen us. Let us go and see what may be done.'

Though they searched the hall, the sleeping nooks, the mead cellar, the kitchens, the stables and storehouses and granaries, nothing remained of any inhabitants, and of the rest of the realm they discovered only desolation and dense wilderness inhabited by ferocious beasts. Then those four bereft survivors began wandering the land; they hunted to survive and banked the fire high each night to fend off the wild beasts. As day gave way to day, the four friends grew more and more lonely for their countrymen, and more and more desperate.

'God as my witness,' announced Manawyddan one day, 'we cannot go on like this much longer.'

'Yet unless we lie down in our graves and pull the dirt over our own heads,' pointed out Pryderi, 'I think we must endure it yet a while.'

The next morning Pryderi and Manawyddan got up to hunt as before; they broke fast, prepared their dogs, took up their spears, and went outside. Almost at once, the leader of the pack picked up the scent and ran ahead, directly to a small copse of rowan trees. As soon as the hunters reached the grove, the dogs came yelping back, all bristling and fearful and whimpering as if they had been beaten.

'There is something strange here,' said Pryderi. 'Let us see what hides within that copse.'

They crept close to the rowan grove, one trembling step at a time, until they reached the border of the trees. Suddenly, out from the cover of the rowans there burst a shining white boar with ears of deepest red. The dogs, with strong encouragement from the men, rushed after it. The boar ran a short distance away, then took a stand against the dogs, head lowered, tusks raking the ground, until the men came near. When the hunters closed in, the strange beast broke away, retreating once more.

After the boar they went, chasing it, cornering it, then chasing it again until they left the familiar fields and came to an unknown part of the realm, where they saw, rising on a great hill of a mound in the distance, a towering caer, all newly made, in a place they had seen neither stone nor building before. The boar was running swiftly up the ramp to the fortress with the dogs close behind it.

Once the boar and the dogs had disappeared through the entrance of the caer, Pryderi and Manawyddan pursued them. From the top of the fortress mound the two hunters watched and listened for their dogs. However long they were there, they heard neither another bark, nor whine, nor so much as a whimper from any of their dogs. Of any sign of them, there was none.

'My lord and friend,' said bold Pryderi, 'I am going into that caer, to recover our dogs. You and I both know we cannot survive without them.'

'Forgive me, friend,' said Manawyddan, leaning on his spear to catch his breath, 'but your counsel is not wise. Consider, we have never seen this place before and know nothing about it. Whoever has placed our realm under this enchantment has surely made this fortress appear also. We would be fools to go in.'

'It may be as you say,' answered Pryderi, 'but I will not easily give up my dogs for anything-they are helping to keep us alive these many days.'

Nothing Manawyddan could say would divert Pryderi from this plan. The young warrior headed straight for the strange fortress and, reaching it, looked around quickly. He could see neither man, nor beast, nor the white boar, nor his good hunting dogs; neither were there houses, or dwellings, or even a hall inside the caer. The only thing he saw in the middle of the wide, empty courtyard was a fountain with marble stonework around it. Beside the fountain was a golden bowl of exquisite design, attached by four chains so that it hung above the marble slab; but the chains reached up into the air, and he could not see the end of them.

Astonished by the remarkable beauty of the bowl, he strode to the fountain and reached out to touch its lustrous surface. As soon as his fingers met the gleaming gold, however, his hands stuck to the bowl and his two feet to the slab on which he was standing. He made to shout, but the power of speech failed him so he could not utter a single word. And thus he stood, unable to move or cry out.

Manawyddan, meanwhile, waited for his friend outside the entrance to the caer, but refused to go inside. Late in the afternoon, when he was certain he would get no tidings of Pryderi or his dogs, he turned and, with a doleful heart, stumbled back to camp. When he came shambling in, head down, dragging his spear, Rhiannon stared at him. 'Where is my son?' she asked. 'Come to that, where are the dogs?'

'Alas,' he answered, 'all is not well. I do not know what happened to Pryderi, and to heap woe on woe, the dogs have disappeared, too.' And he told her about the strange fortress and Pryderi's determination to go inside.

'Truly,' said Rhiannon, 'you have shown yourself a sorry friend, and fine is the friend you have lost.'

With that word she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and set off for the caer, intending to rescue her son. She reached the place just as the moon rose, and saw that the gate of the fortress was wide open, just as Manawyddan had said; furthermore, the place was unprotected. In through the gate she walked, and as soon as she had entered the yard she caught sight of Pryderi standing there, his feet firmly planted to the marble slab, his hands stuck fast to the bowl. She hastened to his aid.

'Oh, my son! Whatever are you doing here?' she exclaimed. Without thinking, she put her hand to his and tried to free him. The instant she touched the bowl, however, her two hands stuck tight and her feet as well. Queen Rhiannon was caught, too, nor could she utter a single cry for help. And as they stood there, night fell upon the caer. Lo! There was a mighty peal of thunder, and a fall of shining mist so thick that the caer disappeared from sight.

When Rhiannon and Pryderi failed to return, Cigfa, daughter of Gwyn Gloyw and wife of young Pryderi, demanded to know what had happened. Reluctantly, Manawyddan related the whole sorry tale, whereupon Cigfa grieved for her husband and lamented that her life to her was no better than death. 'I wish I had been taken away with him.'

Manawyddan gazed at her in dumb disbelief. 'You are wrong to want your death, my lady. As God is my witness, I vow to protect you to my last breath for the sake of Pryderi and my own dear wife. Do not be afraid.' He continued, 'Between me and God, I will care for you as much as I am able, as long as God shall wish us to remain in this wretched state of misery.'

And the young woman was reassured by that. 'I will take you at your word, Father. What are we to do?'

'As to that, I have been thinking,' said Manawyddan, 'and as much as I might wish otherwise, I think this is no longer a suitable place for us to stay. We have lost our dogs, and without them to help in the hunt we cannot long survive, however hard we might try. Though it grieves me to say it, I think we must abandon Dyfed and go to England. Perhaps we can find a way to support ourselves there.'

'If that is what you think best, so be it,' Cigfa replied through her tears; for she was loath to leave the place where she and Pryderi had been so happily married. 'I will follow you.'

So they left the comely valleys and travelled to England to find a way to sustain themselves. On the way, they talked. 'Lord Manawyddan,' said Cigfa, 'it may be necessary while among the English to labour for our living. If that be so, what trade would you take?'

'Our two heads are thinking as one,' replied Manawyddan. 'I have been contemplating this very thing. It seems to me that shoemaking would be as good a trade as any, and better than some.'

'Lord,' the young woman protested, 'think of your rank. You are a king in your own country! Shoe-making may be very well for some, and as good a trade as others no doubt deserve, but it is far too lowly for a man of your rank and skill.'

'Your indignation favours me,' replied Manawyddan ap Llyr. 'Nevertheless, I have grown that fond of eating that it does me injury to go without meat and ale one day to the next. I suspect it is the same with you.'

Lady Cigfa nodded, but said nothing.

'Therefore, I have set my sights on the trade of making shoes,' he said, 'and you can help by finding honest folk to buy the shoes I shall make.'

'If that is what you wish,' said the young woman, 'that is what I will do.'

The two travelled here and there, and came at last to a town where they felt they might settle for a spell. Manawyddan took up his craft and, though it was harder than he had imagined, he persevered-at first making serviceable shoes, then good shoes and, after much diligence and hard labour, fashioning the finest shoes anyone in England had ever seen. He made buckle shoes with gilt leather and golden fittings, and boots of red-dyed leather, and sandals of green with blue laces. He made such wonderful shoes that the work of most other cobblers