Page:Celtic Stories by Edward Thomas.djvu/93

 'I am at the point of death. Cut off my head, and take it and bear it to the White Mount in London, and bury it there with the face towards France. A long time will you be upon the road. In Harlech you will be feasting seven years, the birds of Rhiannon singing unto you the while. And all that time the head will be to you as pleasant company as it ever was when on my body. And at Gwales Island you will be fourscore years, and you may remain there, and the head with you uncorrupted, until you open the door that looks towards Aber Henvelen and towards Cornwall. And after you have opened that door, there you may no longer tarry; set forth then to London to bury the head, and go straight forward.'

They cut off his head and bore it carefully with them. When they had landed in Anglesey they sat down to rest. Bronwen looked sadly round her. She looked towards Ireland and the Island of the Mighty and cried, 'Alas! woe is me that I was ever born; two islands have been destroyed because of me.' She uttered a loud groan, and there broke her heart. They buried her beside the river Alaw, at the place now called Bronwen's Island.

As they journeyed towards Harlech a multitude met them.

'Have you any tidings?' asked Manawythan, the son of Lear.

'Caswallawn, the son of Beli, has conquered the Island of the Mighty,' they answered, 'and is crowned King in London. He has slain the guardians of the kingdom, except Caradoc, and his heart broke for grief; for he could see the sword slaying his companions, but he could not see the slayer. Pendaran, the young page, has run away into the woods.'