"Yes; that is the thief," answered Manawyddan.
"Well, since I have come at the doom of this reptile, I will ransom it of thee for seven pounds, rather than see a man of thy rank touch it.
Loose it, and let it go!"
"I will not let it loose."
"I will give thee four and twenty pounds to set it free," said the bishop.
"I will not set it free for as much again."
"If thou wilt not set it free for this, I will give thee all the horses thou seest and the seven loads of baggage."
"I will not set it free."
"Then tell me at what price thou wilt loose it, and I will give it."
"The spell must be taken off Rhiannon and Pryderi," said Manawyddan.
"That shall be done."
"But not yet will I loose the mouse. The charm that has been cast over all my lands must be taken off likewise."
"This shall be done also."
"But not yet will I loose the mouse till I know who she is."
"She is my wife," answered the bishop.
"And wherefore came she to me?" asked Manawyddan.
"To despoil thee," replied the bishop, "for it is I who cast the charm over thy lands, to avenge Gwawl the son of Clud my friend. And it was I who threw the spell upon Pryderi to avenge Gwawl for the trick that had been played on him in the game of Badger in the Bag. And not only was I wroth, but my people likewise, and when it was known that thou wast come to dwell in the land, they besought me much to change them into mice, that they might eat thy corn. The first and the second nights it was the men of my own house that destroyed thy two fields, but on the third night my wife and her ladies came to me and begged me to change them also into the shape of mice, that they might take part in avenging Gwawl. Therefore I changed them. Yet had she not been ill and slow of foot, thou couldst not have overtaken her. Still, since she was caught, I will restore thee Pryderi and Rhiannon, and will take the charm from off thy lands. I have told thee who she is; so now set her free."
"I will not set her free," answered Manawyddan, "till thou swear that no vengeance shall be taken for this, either upon Pryderi, or upon Rhiannon, or on me."
"I grant thee this boon; and thou hast done wisely to ask it, for on thy head would have lit all the trouble. Set now my wife free."
"I will not set her free till Pryderi and Rhiannon are with me."
"Behold, here they come," said the bishop.
Then Manawyddan held out his hands and greeted Pryderi and Rhiannon, and they seated themselves joyfully on the gra.s.s.
"Ah, lord, hast thou not received all thou didst ask?" said the bishop.
"Set now my wife free!"
"That I will gladly," answered Manawyddan, unloosing the cord from her neck, and as he did so the bishop struck her with his staff, and she turned into a young woman, the fairest that ever was seen.
"Look around upon thy land," said he, "and thou wilt see it all tilled and peopled, as it was long ago." And Manawyddan looked, and saw corn growing in the fields, and cows and sheep grazing on the hill-side, and huts for the people to dwell in. And he was satisfied in his soul, but one more question he put to the bishop.
"What spell didst thou lay upon Pryderi and Rhiannon?"
"Pryderi has had the knockers of the gate of my palace hung about him, and Rhiannon has carried the collars of my a.s.ses around her neck," said the bishop with a smile.
From the "Mabinogion."
_THE BELIEVING HUSBANDS_
ONCE upon a time there dwelt in the land of Erin a young man who was seeking a wife, and of all the maidens round about none pleased him as well as the only daughter of a farmer. The girl was willing and the father was willing, and very soon they were married and went to live at the farm. By and bye the season came when they must cut the peats and pile them up to dry, so that they might have fires in the winter. So on a fine day the girl and her husband, and the father and his wife all went out upon the moor.
They worked hard for many hours, and at length grew hungry, so the young woman was sent home to bring them food, and also to give the horses their dinner. When she went into the stable, she suddenly saw the heavy pack-saddle of the speckled mare just over her head, and she jumped and said to herself:
"Suppose that pack-saddle were to fall and kill me, how dreadful it would be!" and she sat down just under the pack-saddle she was so much afraid of, and began to cry.
Now the others out on the moor grew hungrier and hungrier.
"What _can_ have become of her?" asked they, and at length the mother declared that she would wait no longer, and must go and see what had happened.
As the bride was nowhere in the kitchen or the dairy, the old woman went into the stable, where she found her daughter weeping bitterly.
"What is the matter, my dove?" and the girl answered, between her sobs:
"When I came in and saw the pack-saddle over my head, I thought how dreadful it would be if it fell and killed me," and she cried louder than before.
The old woman struck her hands together: "Ah, to think of it! If that were to be, what should I do?" and she sat down by her daughter, and they both wrung their hands and let their tears flow.
"Something strange must have occurred," exclaimed the old farmer on the moor, who by this time was not only hungry, but cross. "I must go after them." And he went and found them in the stable.
"What is the matter?" asked he.
"Oh!" replied his wife, "when our daughter came home, did she not see the pack-saddle over her head, and she thought how dreadful it would be if it were to fall and kill her."
"Ah, to think of it!" exclaimed he, striking his hands together, and he sat down beside them and wept too.
As soon as night fell the young man returned full of hunger, and there they were, all crying together in the stable.
"What is the matter?" asked he.
"When thy wife came home," answered the farmer, "she saw the pack-saddle over her head, and she thought how dreadful it would be if it were to fall and kill her."