The Beast of Caer Baddan (22 page)

“She had always been the envy with her high ways,” the first woman told Leola. “And now? Now we hate her!”

Even with hatred for her, she was still their dryhtcwen, and with no men in the whole village, it was obvious that she had become their ruler. Thus they bowed to her, as was the custom when a dryhtcwen came by.

“Greetings, Fridiswid Dryhtcwen,” they said.

“Greetings, women,” she replied, and looked on Leola, who still stood in the center of the congregation. “And this young one, I do not know you.”

“This is Alburga’s daughter, Dryhtcwen,” one of the woman said. “You remember Alburga?”

“Redburga’s twin sister?”

“Yea.”

“I am Leola Hobern-daughter, Dryhtcwen,” Leola replied. “I came from Holton.”

“Have you?” Fridiswid said, her voice was arched and piercing. “Tell me what has happened there.”

“I'm unsure, Dryhtcwen,” Leola replied. “The women went into the mead hall,
myself included.”

Leola felt the dryhtcwen's hard gaze burning into her, as if the woman thought she would bring Leola to submission by a single look.

“I see,” Fridiswid, at last. “Walk with me. I must show you Anlofton’s glorious mead hall.”

“I thank you, but Redburga is waiting for me.”

“She shall wait.”

Leola glanced at the other women to see what they thought, but they turned their heads away or looked down, as if to distance
themselves from the conversation.

“Very well,” Leola said, and she limped along, following Fridiswid to the far end of the village.

Chapter Eighteen:  The Boys of Anlofton

The mead hall was neither as large nor as lavishly decorated as the one in Holton had been, but it stood in the prominent position by the village, and compared to the grass roofed huts which housed the rest of the population, it was a king’s castle.

Round oak pillars supported the front and framed the doorway. Colorful banners hung from the high rafters. Newly swept dirt floor spanned the whole of the hall and a broad carved chair sat at the far end of the room. Fridiswid directed her off to the side where some chairs and benches were placed as if to create a sitting area within the large hall.

“Sit down,” Fridiswid said. “Nice to be in out of the peering eyes of common people.”

Leola realized that Fridiswid was considering her more of an equal and wondered why.

Perhaps she wants something of me and thinks she can charm me into giving it to her?

“Apple juice?”
Fridiswid asked.

Leola looked up at a young servant girl who held out the pitcher, and her eyes caught sight of the iron slave collar around the girl’s neck.

She could feel the cold iron around her own neck as if she too was still wearing it. Her breath disappeared from her mouth.

“Leola?” Fridiswid said.

“I thank you, no,” Leola gasped out the words.

“You limp profoundly.”

“I twisted my ankle trying to escape-” but she was not sure how much she should reveal to the tiny but domineering woman.

“My husband, Wigmund Earlmann, what has happen to him?”

“I know not,” Leola said. “I know nothing of warriors’ fates or the fates of the earlmenn. If they are dead, I am sure they died bravely and with honor.”

“Do not speak of honor when we are in crisis, Leola,” Fridiswid replied. “Our men are gone, and I must know if any may return.”

“I am sure that if any could return, they would have arrived here before I did.”

“Really,” Fridiswid said, her voice expressing her doubt and intrigue. “And why were you delayed?”

Leola searched her mind for an answer. “I had hurt my ankle,” she said, at last. “My travel was desperately slow.”

“I see. Leola, I do not know what position you held in Holton. But be aware that I am the only authority in Anlofton. I expect you to tell me everything that you know.”

“I know nothing of the battle, Dryhtcwen,” Leola said. “I only know that the Britisc won.”

“You may go now.”

Leola did not argue, but rose and left the hall immediately. She did not mind that Fridiswid suddenly stopped treating her as an equal and dismissed her like a commoner. Leola realized that she was of no use to the dryhtcwen and therefore not worth talking to.

I would not care for her friendship anyway
.

Leola was only glad that she was a common woman and not a slave and rubbed her neck with a sigh of relief.

I escaped
.

That was all that mattered.

While King Irael made preparations for the memory feast, Swale and Britu kept the Army alive with anticipation.

“Prince Cadfan escaped the battle,” Britu said, entering the meeting tent and taking the chair across from his clansman. “My father's spies have heard the news from Dore. The man wasn't even injured, the coward.”

“An unfortunate development,” Swale replied, with a shake of his head. “But we still do not know what role he played in the war. He might have been following orders from his uncle, King Tudwal.”

“Or, more likely, he was one of the instigators of the whole affair. Perhaps even the one to have
encourage the Gewissae to revolt. Not that they needed any prompting.”

“We cannot conclude anything without knowledge,” Swale replied.

Britu thought they had enough information on the entire Isca clan as to form solid negative opinions about of them but held his tongue.

“What are you going to do about Prince Annon?” Britu asked, instead.

“We let him stay with the Army for now. He can train with the knights and watch the battles. God willing, there are none.”

Britu nodded in agreement, for he felt that Annon was still too delicate to send him home. Who knew what being confined to a castle would do to the emotional boy?

“I have my centurions continuing many of my duties in Atrebat,” Britu said. “So I can stay with the Army as well.”

“Good,” said Swale.

Britu felt that his clansman sounded lost and overwhelmed under the pressure of Owain's looming shadow.

“When the Dumnonni rise again, we shall crush them, and have vengeance for Owain's death,” Britu said, to give his clansman comfort.

“If,” Swale said, wearily. “I pray they do not.”

“When,” Britu replied. “And I pray that they do. Prince Cadfan cannot hide in Dore forever. He shall strike either here in Atrebat or in Glouia.”

Swale shook his head, as if to say “Speak of it no more.”

“Next week is the feast, and we are expected to attend,” he said aloud.

“Of course,” Britu replied, puzzled.

“How can we leave the Army here on the boarder facing south to the enemy and yet travel all the way to Glouia?” Swale said. “How can I leave the Army leaderless?”

“Simply announce that you shall not attend,” Britu said. “And then sneak away at the last moment. Sir Vesanus is leader enough for three days. And the Dumnonni shall not dare attack Atrebat during Owain's feast. They would be too afraid of his wondering soul seeking revenge on them.”

Swale let out a bitter laugh. “That might actually work!”

“Keep up!” cried a merry but impatient voice.

“Slow down, Drudi,” Leola said.

The forest was thick around them, and Leola’s feet seem unaccustomed to the roots and branches that covered the uneven ground. Four weeks of being confined to the house and almost entirely to the bench had made her forget how careful one’s footing must be in the woods. She stumbled along and leaned on the trunk of a tree to steady herself.

Her ankle was much better, but walking a long way still made it hurt. Her aunt had insisted that it was not a very bad sprain, only that too much walking had aggravated it. Leola declined to tell Redburga that she had in fact run on her injury. There was no need to give Redburga more worry then she already had.

When Drudi, one of the village girls, asked Leola to go herb hunting with her, Redburga was only too pleased to insist and demanded that they find hawthorn and nettle. Thus Leola went, tripping and trying to keep up with the other girl’s nimble steps.

Leola took a deep breath and steadied herself with a firm had on the trunk of a tree.

“Don’t touch the hazel trees!” Drudi cried. “You’ll make the faeries mad!”

“Sorry,” Leola said, standing up straight.

She had forgotten to pay attention to which trees were ordinary and which were sacred. She had hardly been in the woods for the past year, and her flight from the Britisc camp was the first time since the fall.

“Does your foot still hurt, Leola?” Drudi

“Yes, but not very much,” Leola replied. “I just cannot walk fast as you.”

“Your feet were propped up so long,” Drudi said, “I was beginning to wonder if you could walk at all!”

Leola laughed at that.

She rubbed her moist palms on her off white apron. It was nice to be back in normal clothes, a dress with a tied bodice, an apron, a real shawl. They were not fancy, but they were comfortable and practical.

Leola did not know what her aunt had done with the long pure-white dress that Owain had given her, but she did not care if it was burned. She had felt so exposed in the tight almost transparent garment.

She suddenly felt his emerald eyes looking on her, even admiring her, and whispering “Beauty” in her ear.

Drudi said something.

“What?” Leola said, coming out of her own thoughts. “What was that?”

“So last week, Mother and I walk that way and find this warrior who was hurt and half starved,” Drudi said. “He must have been from the battle in Holton. It is amazing that he made it up here with an arrow wound in his back.”

“A fortunate man,” Leola replied.

“Yea. Mother says we must keep him hidden though, because we don't know when the Britisc ridends should ride through again, and they would murder him for sure.”

“That is wise.”

“What is that odd smell?” Drudi said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

Leola closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

Her mind sped through the scenes of that horrible night she had spent confined in the mead hall. The sounds of war, the frightening silence, and the putrid odor of burnt flesh.