Scarlet kr-2

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  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 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 kin
g 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 seemed crude and shabby when compared to his. It was soon voiced aloud through all England that as long as either a shoe or boot could be got from Manawyddan the Welshman, no others were worth having. With lovely Cigfa to sell his wares, the nobles of the realm were soon refusing to buy from anybody else.

  Thus, the two exiles spent one year and another in this way, until the shoemakers of England grew first envious and then resentful of their success. The English cobblers met together and decided to issue a warning for the Welshman to leave the realm or face certain death, for he was no longer welcome among them.

  "Lord and father," said Cigfa, "is this to be endured from these ill-mannered louts?"

  "Not the least part of it," Manawyddan replied. "Indeed, I think it is time to return to Dyfed. It may be that things are better there now."