Then he hurried to examine the third field. When he got there, he was certain no one had ever seen finer wheat fully grown and bending to the scythe. "Shame on me," he said, "if I do not keep guard tonight, lest whoever stripped the other fields will come to carry off this one, too. Whatever befalls, I will protect the grain."

He hurried home and gathered his weapons, then went out and began guarding the field. The sun went down and he grew weary, but he did not cease from walking around the borders of the grain field.

Around midnight, the mighty lord of Dyfed was on watch when all of a sudden there arose a terrific commotion. He looked around, and lo, there was a horde of mice-and not just a horde, but a horde of hordes! So many mice it was not possible to count or reckon them, though you had a year and a day to do it.

Before Manawyddan could move, the mice descended upon the field, and every one of them was climbing to the tip of a barley stalk, nipping off the ear, and bearing it away. In less time than it takes to tell, there was no stalk untouched. Then, as quickly as they had come, the mice scurried off, carrying the ears of grain with them.

A mighty rage gripped the warrior. He lunged out at the fleeing mice. But he could no more catch them than he could catch the birds in the air-except for one that was so fat and heavy Manawyddan was able to spring upon it and snatch it up by the tail. This he did and dropped it inside his glove; then he tied the end of the glove with a string. Tucking the glove in his belt, he turned and started back to where Cigfa was waiting with a meal for the hungry guardsman.

Manawyddan returned to the simple hut where he lived with Cigfa, and hung the glove on a peg by the door. "What have you there, my lord?" asked Cigfa, brightening the fire.

"A marauding thief," replied mighty Manawyddan, almost choking on the words. "I caught him stealing the food from our mouths."

"Dear Father," wondered Cigfa, "what sort of thief can you put in your glove?"

"Since you ask," sighed Manawyddan, "here is the whole sad story." And he told her how the last field had also been destroyed and the harvest ruined by the mice that had stripped it bare, even as he was standing guard.

"That mouse was very fat," he said, pointing to the glove, "so I was able to catch it, and heaven and all the saints bear witness, I will surely hang that rascal tomorrow. Upon my oath, if I had caught any more of the thieves I would hang them all."

"You may do as you please, for you are lord of this land and well within your rights," replied the young woman. "However, it is unseemly for a king of your high rank and nobility to be exterminating vermin like that. It can avail you little to trouble yourself with such a creature. Perhaps you might better serve your honour by letting it go."

"Your words are wise counsel, to be sure," answered Manawyddan. "But shame on me if it should become known that I caught any of those thieving rascals only to let them go."

"And how would this become known?" wondered Cigfa. "Is there anyone else, save me, to know or care?"

"I will not argue with you, my daughter," answered Manawyddan. "But I made a vow, and since I only caught this one, I will hang it as I have promised."

"That is your right, Lord," she replied. "You know, I hope that I have no earthly reason to defend this creature, and would not deign to do so except to avoid humiliation for you. There, I've said it. You are the lord of this realm; you do what you will."

"That was well said," granted Manawyddan. "I am content with my decision."

The next morning, the lord of Dyfed made for Gorsedd Arberth, taking the glove with the mouse inside. He quickly dug two holes in the highest place on the great mound of earth, into which he planted two forked branches cut from a nearby wood. While he was working, he saw a bard coming towards him, wearing an old garment, threadbare and thin. The sight surprised him, so he stood and stared.

"God's peace," said the bard. "I give you the best of the day."

"May God bless you richly!" called Manawyddan from the mound. "Forgive me for asking, but where have you come from, bard?"

"Great lord and king, I have been singing in England and other places. Why do you ask?"

"It is just that I haven't seen a single person here except my dear daughter-in-law, Cigfa, for several years," explained the king.

"That is a wonder," said the bard. "As for myself, I am passing through this realm on my way to the north country. I saw you working up there and wondered what kind of work you might be doing."

"Since you ask," replied Manawyddan, "I am about to hang a thief I caught stealing the very food from my mouth."

"What kind of thief, Lord, if you don't mind my asking?" the bard wondered. "The creature I see squirming in your hand looks very like a mouse."

"And so it is."

"Permit me to say that it poorly becomes a man of such exalted station to handle such a lowly creature as that. Thief or no, let it go."

"I will not let it go," declared Manawyddan, bristling at the suggestion. "I caught this rascal stealing, and I will execute the punishment for a thief upon it-which, as we all know, is hanging."

"Do as you think best, Lord," replied the bard. "But rather than watching a man of your rank stooping to such sordid work, I will give you three silver pennies that I earned with song if you will only pardon that mouse and release it."

"I will not let it go-neither will I sell it for three pennies."

"As you wish, mighty lord," said the bard. And taking his leave, he went away.

Manawyddan returned to his work. As he was busy putting the crossbeam between the two gallows posts, he heard a whinny and looked down from the mound to see a brown-robed priest riding towards him on a fine grey horse.

"Pax vobiscum!" called the priest. "May our Great Redeemer richly bless you."

"Peace to you," replied Manawyddan, wondering that another human being should appear so soon. "May the All Wise give you your heart's desire."

"Forgive my asking," said the priest, "but time moves on and I cannot tarry. Pray, what kind of work occupies you this day?"

"Since you ask," replied Manawyddan, "I am hanging a thief that I caught stealing the means of my sustenance."

"What kind of thief might that be, my lord?" asked the cleric.

"A low thief in the shape of a mouse," explained the lord of Dyfed. "The same who, with his innumerable comrades, has committed a great crime against me-so great that I have now no hope of survival at all. Though it be my last earthly act, I mean to exact punishment upon this criminal."

"My lord, rather than stand by and watch you demean yourself by dealing so with that vile creature, I will redeem it. Name your price and I will have it."

"By my confession to God, I will neither sell it nor let it go."

"It may be true, Lord, that a thief 's life is worthless. Still, I insist you must not defile yourself and drag your exalted name through the mud of dishonour. Therefore, I will give you three pounds in good silver to let that mouse go."

"Between me and you and God," Manawyddan answered, "though it is a princely sum, the money is no good to me. I want no payment, except what this thief is due: its right and proper hanging."

"If that is your final word."

"It is."

"Then you do as you please." Picking up the reins, the priest rode on.

Manawyddan, lord of Dyfed, resumed his work. Taking a bit of string, he fashioned a small noose and tied the noose around the neck of the mouse. As he was busy with this, behold, he heard the sound of a pipe and drum. Looking down from the gorsedd mound, he saw the retinue of a bishop, with his sumpters and his host, and the bishop himself striding towards him. He stopped his work. "Lord Bishop," he called, "your blessings if you please."