The Beast of Caer Baddan (17 page)

“What is going on?” he asked. “What are the soldiers doing, preparing for war?”

“Orders of the Prince of Glouia,” the knight replied. “We have had it from the centurion.”

“Why did Prince Owain give such an order?”

“It is not my place to question the dominae, Prince.”

“Of course not.”

Britu went back towards the private tents but not to Owain’s. Rather he found Swale and Annon in the meeting tent in the center of the camp.

“Owain has the soldiers up for war,” he said, forgetting his earlier complaint.

The look of shock on Swale’s face told Britu at once that he too had not known.

Owain stood in the center of the outer room, his arms outstretched. Six bald servants surrounded him holding different pieces of his clothing and armor. They fitted a fresh tunic on him first and then the breast plate, front and back made of sew together metal scales.

His leather boots were fitted around his feet and lower legs, and the long leather straps laced up the front of his shin. They put long iron leg plates around his shins and decorative gold bands on his wrists. His large hands were wrapped up in linen strips.

One of the servants crushed rowan berries in a small bowl and added some water, mixing it up until it was a creamy paint. Another servant took the paint on his forefingers and decorated Owain’s cheeks, chin, and forehead with crimson spirals.

The servants strapped his weapons belt around him and handed him his tall conical helmet and painted oblong shield.

Dressed thus, Owain looked over, passed the pulled back curtain and into the inner room. He saw Leola still lying on his cot with the soft blankets pulled up to her chin. His steady gaze caught her focus, and he, true to himself, gave her a pleased smile. She returned it with one of her own, just as he wanted her to do.

Then, he drew the curtain closed and left the tent.

“The men are assembled, the knights are ready, and we are all waiting for war,” Swale said, waving his hands in the air. “I ask you, why?”

“It is Owain’s doing, Prince Swale,” Annon said. “His order. He says we shall be attacked.”

“I would not be one to go against Owain, but this is ludicrous,” Swale said.

“I know,” said Britu. “The Gewissae are defeated. They’ll not raise another army here for months.”

“Years, perhaps.”

“Ever, perhaps.”

Owain entered the meeting tent and came to the round table where the three sat.

“Owain,” Swale said, “we await your word.”

“We are going to war,” Owain said.

“Really,” Britu said.

Owain caught the harsh sarcasm in his cousin's voice. 

“It is true,” Owain replied.

“Why do you say that?” Swale asked. “How do you know?”

Owain wanted to tell them then what he felt and why he knew. “I am going to die,” was just on his tongue, but he held himself in check. He had never opened his heart to any of them, and although they were his closest friends, he would certainly not do so now. Owain would go to his end with the honor and glory of a true warrior. And they would have to deal with any shock that might come with his death.

“Because I know,” was all he said.

“Very well,” Britu said, but his irritation was clear in his voice. “Be secretive. But you must tell us who it is we are too fight.”

“I believe it may be the Dumnonni.”

“You believe it may be the Dumnonni!” cried Britu, as if not believing his ears.

“Peace, Britu,” Swale said. “Owain, we trust your judgment as our friend and leader, but this is most strange. We have scouts and sentries, and none of them have reported any activity from the Dumnonni or any other people who would attack us here. Owain, you do not have the Other Knowing. You cannot predict the future. You do not know that we shall be attacked.”

Before Owain answered, the head scout came to the entrance of the meeting tent.

“Permission to enter?” he asked, his voice frantic with important news.

“Granted,” Owain replied. “What do you have?”

“The Dumnonni are assembled, Dominae,” the head scout said. “They are full ready for war and marching north. They are coming here. Even within the hour.”

“Good,” Owain replied. “Gentlemen?”

The other princes were surprised, but young Annon’s face was frozen in shock.

“The Dumnonni?” Britu cried. “Why them?”

“They… must be here for the invasion of Venta,” Swale said.

This was what Owain had not quite understood. He thought it strange that the Gewissae should plan an attack with only a few hundred men. But an agreement between the Gewissae and the Dumnonni, even though the Dumnonni were a Britannae people, would solve both tribes problems. The assassin attempt on Owain less than two weeks before was supposed to eliminate the one man who had the power to stop them.

Now the entire scheme became clear as fresh water.

“An alliance between the Dumnonni and the Gewissae,” Swale continued. “Odd, but not entirely surprising.”

“Surprising?” Britu said in blatant disbelief.
“Unheard of!”

Owain, weary of giving any argument, was glad for Swale's continued speech.

“But the Dumnonni have always been enemies to Atrebat,” Swale said. “They are the ancient foe of the Atrebatae people and the long standing feud between the Isca and the Andoco has only furthered that wound. Dumnonni and Gewissae together is a partnership that we should have guessed would come about. If not today, eventually.”

“I know. I know,” said Britu, giving in at last to Swlae's logic. “But how did you know?” and he turned on Owain once more. “How could you possibly know?”

“Friends,” Owain replied, avoiding the question, “let us prepare an attack before we are forced to a defense.”

Owain led them out of the tent to the assembled Army. Britu and Swale went to their own places, and Annon stayed by Owain’s side.

“For the land!” Owain yelled.

“For the land!” the soldiers cheered back.

“For the land!” Annon cried.

“For the land!”

These words rang forth with such grandeur as to make the humblest man proud. They were one Army, united under Owain, the last dominae on the island.

He would go out to meet his death. It was only by this brave, final act that he would find peace. His mother had given up her life for him so selflessly. Owain would now relinquish his for his people just as willingly. He would go forth with honor, he would fight with abandon, and he would die in glory.

Owain would see his mother once more.

“Prince Owain?” came the treble voice by his side.

Owain looked over to see Annon, staring up at him with troubled eyes.

“Go find another high point,” Owain said. “This shall be a terrible fight.”

He swallowed hard, knowing that this would be the last time he should look on any of his friends.

“Please, Prince,” the boy said, “you must tell me. How did you know the Dumnonni were coming?”

A sorry lump swelled deep in Owain's throat and he could not answer.

“How am I to learn if you will not tell me?” Annon asked.

“It is not learned, Annon,” Owain replied. “It is known.”

“Then tell me, so I will know!”

Owain was silent as he glanced down on the boy whom he had taken care of for over a year. He had rescued Annon from the secret hillforts of the dreaded Attacotti. He had trained him
to fight and taken him to nearly every kingdom on the island. He had watched over him, as if he was one of his own clansmen.

Owain had not thought of it before, but Annon had become to him the younger sibling he wished he had had. Annon was the brother Owain was sure he would have had if his father had not suffered a terrible fever that prevented him from begetting a second child. Owain had never revealed anything to Annon before, but now a throbbing pain within his heart wanted the boy to understand, if only to be brave against the ordeal.

“Please-” the boy begged.

“Last night I had a dream,” Owain said, deciding.

“So?”

“I have seen the old woman washing,” Owain said, at last.

“What?” Annon cried, his face went white with horror. “No! No!”

“It is true. All men are born and all men die.”

“It is a mistake. It is some mistake. You were tired.”

“Annon,” said Owain, with a shake of his head. “I have seen the old woman washing. She washed the blood out of my soul so that she could give it to another life. You know what the stories say. I have seen the old woman washing. Today, I shall die.”

“No!”

“It is so. Neither you nor I can stop it. What would you have me do? Run away from the battle like some coward? Even if I wished to flee, I cannot for the honored memory of my mother. Think better of it, Annon.”

“But-”

“Annon.”

“Very well,” the boy replied, his voice broken with tears. He drew himself up as if to be prepared against the calamity.

“Now go,” Owain said, pushing him away, “find some place to watch the battle. You shall learn more from that than from listening to me talk. Go.”

Annon went, and Owain found his own place in the army.

“The old woman washing.” he said to himself, “She shall give my soul to another, and God willing, to my son.”