They rode in the direction of the sound and came to a birch copse in a hidden glen. At their approach a score of fine hunting hounds came racing from the copse, shaking violently with fear, their tails low between their haunches. 'Unless I miss my guess,' remarked Pryderi upon seeing the dogs, 'some enchantment lies upon this little wood.'
No sooner had he spoken these same words, when out of the copse burst a shining white boar. The dogs cowered to see it, but after much urging, took up the trail and ran after it. The men followed until they drew near to where the boar stood at bay against the hounds.
Upon seeing the men, the white boar broke free and ran off once more. Again the men gave chase and again found the boar at bay against the hounds, and again the boar broke free when they came near.
Well, they pursued the boar until they came to a great fortress which neither of them had ever seen before, and they marvelled to see it. The hounds and the boar ran inside the stronghold and though the two men listened for the dog's barking, as long as they stayed they heard not a sound more.
'Lord,' said Pryderi, 'If you will, I shall enter this fortress and seek what has become of the dogs.'
'Lieu knows that is not a good idea,' replied Manawyddan. 'Neither you nor I have ever seen this fortress before, and if you ask my counsel, it is this: stay far from this strange place. It may be that whoever has placed the enchantment on the land has caused this fortress to appear.'
'It may be as you say, but I am loath to give up those fine hounds.' So, Manawyddan's good advice notwithstanding, Pryderi urged his reluctant horse forward and entered the gate of the fortress which was before them.
Once inside, however, he could see neither man nor beast nor boar nor dogs nor hall nor chamber. What he did discover was a great stand of marble stone. And hanging above the stand by four golden chains, whose ends extended upward so that he could not see any end to them, was a huge bowl of the finest gold he had ever seen, and Pryderi was no stranger to fine gold.
He approached the marble stand and saw Rhiannon, Manawyddan's wife, standing still as the stone itself, her hand touching the bowl.
'Lady,' said Pryderi, 'what do you here?'
As she made no answer, and as the bowl was of dazzling beauty, Pryderi thought no ill and came to where she stood and put his hands on the bowl. In the selfsame instant that he touched the bowl his hands stuck to the bowl and his feet stuck to the stand, and there he stood as one made of stone.
Awhile and awhile Manawyddan waited, but Pryderi did not return, and neither did the dogs. 'Well,' he said to himself, 'there is nothing to be done but go in after him.' And in he went.
There he saw, as Pryderi had seen, the magnificent golden bowl hanging by its golden chains. He saw his wife Rhiannon with her hand to the bowl, and Pryderi likewise. 'Lady wife,' he said, 'friend Pryderi, what do you here?'
Neither made to answer him, but his words provoked a response nonetheless, for no sooner had he spoken than the sound of a very great thunder echoed through the mysterious fortress and the mist rose up thick and dark. When it cleared, Rhiannon, Pryderi, the golden bowl and indeed the fortress itself were gone and not to be seen any more.
'Woe to me,' cried Manawyddan when he saw what had happened. 'I am all alone now with neither companions nor even dogs for company. Lieu knows I do not deserve such a fate as this. What shall I do?'
There was nothing to be done but go on with his life as best he could. He fished the streams and caught wild game, and began to till the soil, using a few grains of wheat he had in his pocket. The wheat flourished and in time he had enough to sow an entire field, and then another, and another. Great the wonder of it, for the wheat was the finest the world had ever seen!
Manawyddan bided his time and waited out the seasons until at last the wheat was so ripe he could almost taste the bread he would make. So, looking at his wonderful crop, he said to himself, 'I am a fool if I do not reap this tomorrow.'
He returned to his bothy to sharpen his wheat knife. The next morning when he came in the grey dawn to harvest his long-awaited crop, he found only naked stalks standing in the field. Each stalk had been snapped off where the ear joins to the stem and the grain carried off, leaving only stubble behind.
Much distressed, Manawyddan ran to the next field and saw that all was as it should be. He examined the grain, which had ripened nicely. 'I am a fool if I do not reap this field tomorrow,' he said to himself.
He slept lightly that night and awoke with the break of day to reap his grain. Upon coming to the field, he saw that, as before, only naked stalks remained. The grain had been carried off. 'Alas!' he cried. 'What enemy is doing this to me? Lieu knows he is completing my downfall. If this keeps on I will be destroyed and all the land with me!'
With that Manawyddan hastened to his last remaining field. And behold, it was ripe and ready to be harvested. 'I am a fool if I do not reap this field tomorrow,' he said to himself, 'more, I will be a dead fool, for this is my last hope.'
And he sat down right where he was, intending to watch through the night and so catch the enemy that was destroying him. Manawyddan watched, and towards midnight what must have been the greatest uproar in the world reached his ears. He looked and saw the greatest host of mice ever assembled, so large a host he could scarce believe his eyes.
Before he could move the mice had fallen upon the field, each one scaling a stalk and nipping off the ear and carrying off the grain in its mouth, leaving only a naked stalk behind. Manawyddan rushed to the rescue of his field, but the mice might have been midges for all he could catch them.
One mouse, however, was heavier than all the others and could not move so quickly. Manawyddan pounced upon it and put it in his glove. He tied the opening with string and took the mouse prisoner back to his bothy. 'Well, as I would hang the thief that has ruined me,' he said to the mouse, 'Lieu help me, I will hang you.'
The next morning Manawyddan went out to the mound where this whole misadventure had begun, taking the mouse in the glove. And there he set two forked sticks upright in the ground at the highest part of the mound.
All at once a man appeared, riding by the foot of the mound on a thin-shanked horse. The man's clothes were worse than rags and he appeared a beggar. 'Lord, good day to you,' the beggarman called out.
Manawyddan turned to observe him. 'Lieu be good to you,' he replied. 'These past seven years I have seen not one man in all my kingdom, save yourself this very moment.'
'Well, I am only passing through these desolate lands,' the beggar told him. 'If it please you, lord, what work are you about?'
'I am executing a thief.'
'What son of thief? The creature I see in your hand looks very like a mouse to me. It is scarcely fitting for a man of your exalted position to touch an animal like that. Surely, you will let it go.'
'Between you and me and Lieu, I will not!' said Mana-wyddan hotly. This mouse, and his brothers, have brought about my destruction. I mean to execute punishment upon it before I starve to death, and the judgement is hanging.'
The beggar went on his way and Manawyddan set about fixing a stick for the crossbeam between two forks. He had done this when a voice hailed him from below the mound. 'Good day to you, lord!'
'Lieu smite' me if this is not becoming a busy place,' muttered Manawyddan to himself. He looked around and saw a fine noblewoman sitting on a grey palfrey at the foot of the mound.
'Good day to you, lady,' he called back to her. 'What brings you here?'
'I was only riding by when I saw you toiling up here. What work are you about?' she asked full politely.