The Beast of Caer Baddan (20 page)

“His journal,” Britu said, absently.

He grabbed the book and opened it up to read through it, yet his anxious eyes could not concentrate on the Latin script.

“Tell me if he wrote anything before the battle,” Britu said, passing the journal on to Swale.

As Swale scanned the contents of the year’s notes, Britu continued to wander around the tent, looking for Owain and knowing he would not find him there. Britu thought that the box which was set on the table by the half eaten food should not be there at all and remembered that he had seen it in Owain’s hands only two hours before they clashed with the Dumnonni.

Britu lifted the lid on the box and gazed inside.

“Harp strings?” he muttered.

Owain must have gotten them for his daughter while they were in Lerion. Britu would be sure that the whole box was given to the child. Her mother had abandoned her, and now she would never see her father again.

Swale’s voice forced Britu out of his gloomy thoughts.

“Britu,” Swale said, “listen, ‘I have taken for my wife Leola daughter of Hobern a Frisian of the village of Hol, her mother was Alburga daughter of a Saxon of the village of Anlof. She shall be called Princess of Glouia.’ Why would he do that?”

“He married?” Britu cried, not believing it.

“He married a Gewissae, here, in his tent, this morning.”

“Preposterous,” Britu said. “They’re Saxon.”

“Well that is what he did,” Swale replied. “Here it is in his hand,” and he gave the book back to Britu, pointing out the very last entry in it.

“He married a Gewissae,” Britu said, bewildered.

“Now, why, I must know,” Swlae said.

“I know why,” Annon said.

Both men stopped and turned towards the boy who they had all but forgotten a moment before. He stared back at them, fear and sadness building up within his young eyes.

“Speak up,” Britu said, impatient.

“He saw the old woman washing!” Annon cried.

“What!” cried Swale, horror written across his
face.

“What are you talking about?” Britu asked Annon.

“He had a dream early this morning,” Annon blurted out. “He saw the old woman washing the blood out of his tunic. It is just as the stories say. He had a vision of the Phantom Queen. That’s how he knew that the Dumnonni were coming. That's how he knew he was going to die.”

“Owain!”
Swale cried. “Why didn't you say something?”

“You knew this and did not tell us!” Britu cried, turning his rage on Annon.

“He told me just before the battle!” Annon cried, growing angry himself. “What was I to do? He was my teacher. I could not tell him not to fight.”

Britu paced the room.

He knew that it was so, for he had been told that Owain had taken one of the prisoners early. If Owain knew of his impending doom, why not marry? And there were no women here for hours but the Gewissae captives, trapped in the Saxon great hall.

“If he is married,” Britu said, “where is she, this Gewissae?”

“He must have let her go,” Swale said. He bent down and took up the iron slave collar. “It is fitting that way.”

“What of his father, King Irael?” Annon asked.

“We must tell him,” Britu said.

“No,” Swale said. “He shall not like it.”

“We must,” Britu cried. “It would be dishonorable not to! Owain dead and we, his clansmen, not reveal his marriage?”

“Nothing shall come of it,” Swale said. “I will keep the journal, and Britu, you must return the sword to your uncle, King Irael.”

“Of course,” Britu said.

He looked on the weapon in his hands. It was Owain’s most prized possession and still had the blood of the Dumnonni king on its blade. Britu’s throat swelled up with agony as he thought of his cousin and how he would never see him again.

“No,” Britu said. “You do it. I cannot.”

“Very well, Clansman,” Swale said.

Swale saw to Owain’s personal things and reprimanded the servants for their lack of order and duty. He was sure that Owain would never have tolerated such a disaster in his tent.

Britu had the sorry task of writing his own father with an explanation.

Owain was dead. There was no way to write it gently. All of their strength was based on Owain. All of their confidence was placed on his shoulders. Now that he was gone, what would his father do? What would any of the Andoco do?

Britu agreed with Swale that it was best not to mention this Gewissae woman in his letter. He was sure that both his father and Owain’s father would be angry, if not horrified, at the thought of Owain marrying a Saxon commoner.

Britu admitted to himself that calling the woman a commoner was an assumption yet he justified it with the knowledge that he had never heard of a Hobern as an earlmann. Besides, he knew that if she was the daughter of a ruler, Owain would have mentioned that fact in his journal. Thus he decided that this Gewissae woman must be a commoner, as well as Owain’s prisoner and slave. Wherever she was, she would be forgotten.

Despite his mind telling him that this action was right, his heart told him that he would regret it.

Leola limped down the path towards some dreary grass covered huts. At first, a sense of relief filled her at her arrival. In spite of the dark night, the rain and cold, and her injured foot, she had made the long journey all the way to her mother's village of Anlofton. She had not been there for years but still managed to find the little town, tucked away within the forest.

Yet as she approached, Leola felt the dead air that hovered over the village like some conjurer of evil sent to doom them all.

There should have been fires in the hearths and thus smoke streaming from the chimneys. The night sentry should have saluted her and called the people out in greeting.

Why are there no fires? Where are the people? What atrocity has happened here?

Fear bubbled up new from the depth of her stomach.

“Redburga!” she cried. “It’s me, Leola! Alburga’s daughter! It is me!
Your niece!”

She looked at the silent, dreary huts one by one, not remembering which one had been her aunt's and
uncle's.

“Redburga!” she cried.

Her weary body trembled with cold and dread, as her eyes searched the darkness for any movement.

“Redburga!” she cried.

One of the doors crept open and a stout woman stepped outside.

“Leola?” she said.

“Aunt!” Leola cried. “Thank God!”

Her whole being relaxed and the agony washed out of her with cleansing tears.

Redburga ran forward and opened the half-sized gate that separated the front garden from the road.

“Quickly, inside!” she said, beckoning Leola with a waving hand.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Leola ran to her aunt, who folded her up in her strong arms.

“Leola!” she cried. “It is you! You walked all this way? How glad I am you have come, but you must be exhausted! Come in! Come in!”

Redburga hurried her in and shut the door.

The living room was smoky and dusty, and Leola could hardly see in the dim candlelight. She sank onto a convenient bench and closed her eyes. Her chest was alive with the agitated beating of her heart, and her whole body was soaked through from cold rain.

Redburga badgered her with questions.

“What happened? What happened in the battle? What happened to Holton? What happened to our men?”

“Ah!” Leola cried, still unable to grasp her fleeting breath. “What a mess! There was a surprise attack by the Britisc and they burned the whole town!”

Redburga went to the hearth, stoked the fire, and fed it until it blazed.

“No! The whole town?” she cried. “Where is my husband? Did you see him?”

Leola had hardly thought of Fensalir since she had realized that the Britisc had won the fight.

“Yea,” Leola said, carefully, “but only before, at the feast. I do not know if he has escaped the war.”

“Yea.
But there is hope.”

Redburga took Leola's hands and rubbed them with a dry cloth.

“This should warm you up, Dear,” she said. “What strange clothes you are wearing!”

Leola glanced down at herself and saw with a smile that the lower half was covered in mud and that the whole dress was transparent from the rain.

“A very long story,” Leola said, with a laugh, not wanting to think on the events. “Too long and confusing for this night. I’m so tired.”

“Rest then,” Redburga replied. “But first, we must get these things of off you.”

Leola dragged herself up so that her aunt could force the tight garment off of her. She shivered even as Redburga placed a warm towel around her and rubbed her shoulders.

“Here. You can wear this old dress of mine,” Redburga said. “I was going to take it apart this morning. Glad I waited.”

She took a brown garment out off a pile of cloth in the corner and slipped it over Leola’s head.

“We'll see about getting you a bodice tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Aunt,” Leola said.

“When Fensalir left, I told him to be sure to tell you to come,” Redburga said.

“Yea,” Leola said, thinking on her dislike of her aunt's husband. “I am glad I did come.”

“But I did not know that you had married,
Dear.”

Leola held herself still, not knowing how to respond.

“Your hair-”

“Yea,” Leola replied, taking the two tails in her hand.  “It was...”

She wondered how she was to explain a Britisc aetheling to her aunt.

“Sudden?” Redburga asked, with a knowing smile.

“Yea,” Leola replied.

Leola was a relieved that her aunt was answering the questions herself.

“Marriages often are,” Redburga continued.

She bent over the hearth and stirred
the strew that was placed there, and Leola breathed in the familiar aromas of vegetables and herbs.

“The women shall demand your story of the war in the morning,” she said.

“I don’t want to tell it.” Leola said, cringing.

“Yea,” Redburga replied. “But you must.
For it would not do for me to say as I was not there.”

“Yea,” he said and let out a long sigh.

She knew that her aunt was correct, yet what was she to tell them of Owain of Baddan? How was she to explain her strange marriage and her unbelievable escape?

Her stomach rumbled as if twisted into a knot.

“Is there anything to eat?” she asked.

“Here,” Redburga replied. “Have this bread and you can eat the rest of the stew once it is hot.”

Leola took a piece off the offered loaf of bread and ate.

Plain and dry compared to the Britisc bread
.

She smiled at her own folly.

I am so hungry and tired, and yet I can criticize food? I shall eat and be grateful
.

“Mama!
Mama!” two chirping voices came from the other room.