When Branwen saw her son killed, she tried to leap into the flames after him, but Brân held her back. Then every man armed himself, and such a tumult was never heard in one house before. Day after day they fought; but the Irish had the advantage, for they had only to plunge their dead men into the magic cauldron to bring them back to life. When Evnissyen knew this, he saw a way of atoning for the misfortunes his evil nature had brought upon Britain. He disguised himself as an Irishman, and lay upon the floor as if dead, until they put him into the cauldron. Then he stretched himself, and, with one desperate effort, burst both the cauldron and his own heart. Thus things were made equal again, and in the next battle the men of Britain killed all the Irish. But of themselves there were only seven left unhurt—Pryderi; Manawyddan; Gluneu, the son of Taran[339]; Taliesin the Bard; Ynawc; Grudyen, the son of Muryel; and Heilyn, the son of Gwynn the Ancient. Brân himself was wounded in the foot with a poisoned dart, and was in agony. So he ordered his seven surviving followers to cut off his head, and to take it to the White Mount in London[340], and bury it there, with the face towards France. He prophesied how they would perform the journey. At Harlech they would be feasting seven years, the birds of Rhiannon singing to them all the time, and Brân’s own head conversing with them as agreeably as when it was on his body. Then they would be fourscore years at Gwales[341]. All this while, Brân’s head would remain uncorrupted, and would talk so pleasantly that they would forget the flight of time. But, at the destined hour, someone would open a door which looked towards Cornwall, and, after that, they could stay no longer, but must hurry to London to bury the head. So the seven beheaded Brân, and set off, taking Branwen also with them. They landed at the mouth of the River Alaw, in Anglesey. Branwen first looked back towards Ireland, and then forward towards Britain. “Alas,” she cried, “that I was ever born! two islands have been destroyed because of me.” Her heart broke with sorrow, and she died. An old Welsh poem says, with a touch of real pathos: “Softened were the voices in the brakes Of the wondering birds On seeing the fair body. Will there not be relating again Of that which befel the paragon At the stream of Amlwch?”[342] “They made her a four-sided grave,” says the Mabinogi, “and buried her upon the banks of the Alaw.” The traditionary spot has always borne the name of _Ynys Branwen_, and, curiously enough, an urn was found there, in 1813, full of ashes and half-burnt bones, which certain enthusiastic local antiquaries saw “every reason to suppose” were those of the fair British Aphrodité herself.[343]