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 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."

The two wayfarers set off for Dyfed with a horse and cart, and three good milk cows. Manawyddan had also supplied himself with a bushel of barley, and tools for sowing, planting, and harvesting. He made for Arberth and settled there, for there was nothing more pleasant to him than living in Arberth and the territory where he used to hunt: himself and Pryderi, and Rhiannon and Cigfa with them.

Through the winter, he fished in the streams and lakes, and despite the lack of dogs, was able to hunt wild deer in their woodland lairs. When spring rolled around, he began tilling the deep, rich soil, and after that he planted one field, and a second, and a third. The barley that grew up that summer was the best in the world, and the three additional fields were just as good, producing grain more bountiful than any seen in Dyfed from that day to this.

Manawyddan and Cigfa peacefully occupied themselves through the seasons of the year. When harvest time came upon them, they went out to the first hide and behold, the stalks were so heavy with grain they bowed down almost to breaking. "We shall begin reaping tomorrow," said Manawyddan.

He hurried back to Arberth and honed the scythe. The following day, in the green light of dawn, he went out to begin the harvest. When he arrived at the field he discovered, to his shock and dismay, nothing but naked stalks. Each and every stalk had been broken off and the ear of grain nipped clean away, leaving just the bare stem.

It fair broke his heart to see it. "Who could have done this?" he wailed, thinking it must have been English raiders because there were no countrymen near, and no one else around who could have accomplished such a feat in one night. Even as he was thinking this, he hurried on to examine the second field; and behold, it was fully grown and ready to harvest.

"God willing," said he, "I will reap this tomorrow."

As before, he honed the scythe and went out the next morning. But upon reaching the field, he found nothing except stubble.

"O, Lord God," he cried in anguish, "am I to be ruined? Who could do such a thing?" He thought and thought, but reached only this conclusion: "Whoever began my downfall is the one who is completing it," he said. "My enemy has destroyed my country with me!"