The Beast of Caer Baddan (25 page)

The boy jumped up and stormed out of the hall.

“Let him go,” Swale said to Britu, putting out a restraining hand.

“He is nearly sixteen,” Britu grumbled. “He needs to have some self-control.”

“This is the second teacher he has lost, Britu,” Swale said, with a sympathetic gaze. “Give him time to heal. We shall lecture him later.”

Britu only thought of his own anguish and sought to distract himself from it by focusing his anger on external things.

He is like the Mighty Alder

Stalwart with sword, fierce with hand

Princes bold before him moulder

Valiant against the enemy band

Now this Britu knew the truth of. He had fought alongside his cousin for four years, and had born witness to his fearlessness. There was no battle so terrible that Owain did not find a way to overcome. Even the Maetae Pictii in the bitter cold of the North Country had admired Owain.

As Britu sat there in the great hall and listened to the music, his heart filled with sadness.

“What is he doing here?” Swale whispered.

Britu looked up to see Prince Cadfan, the Dumnonni champion and nephew of their bitter enemy, the dead King Tudwal.

“He dares come here,” Britu said. “I shall kill him.”

“Peace, Britu,” Swale replied. “Do not dishonor Owain by slaying a man at his feast.”

Britu restrained himself, for he knew the validity of his clansman's words, yet he still seethe in his wrath as he looked on the Dumnonni, who he felt should never have that hall.

He is like the Judicious Hazel…

The harpist continued his song, but Britu was too consumed with watching to listen.

After Prince Cadfan came up to King Irael to offer his condolences, Britu found the opportunity to get close to the man.

“Do something,” he hissed in the Dumnonni's ear. “Anything at all, I beg you. Give me an excuse to run you through.”

“I come in peace, Prince of Atrebat,” Prince Cadfan replied. “I respected the dominae as all of you did.”

“Like a serpent.”

Prince Cadfan gave him a formal bow of his head, and slowly made his way to the exit.

He is like the Enchanting Willow…

But they were more engrossed with their own matters for any more music.

“Now what did you do?” Swale asked Britu.

“I got rid of waste,” Britu replied.

“But he knows now that we are both here. He shall leave and gather the Army of the Dumnonni to attack Atrebat.”

“He won't,” Britu replied. “He is a coward. He is called the champion because he is an Isca and not because he risks himself for his men. He shall go back to Dore and hide.”

When the song was finished, the King of Lerion, one of the Andoco, stood and raised his cup. “Here is to Owain of Baddan, the Prince of Glouia, and Champion of Albion. May his spirit find peace, and his soul be given to another life.”

“To Owain!” and the men drank.

“We do not need a new Owain,” Britu said, to Swale. “We need an Owain with a little self-control.”

“Perhaps the next Owain shall have self-control,” Swale said.

Owain stood on the river bank looking out into night sky. The silent moon rose up before him, and the light shining from it seemed to seep through his hands and fill his whole body with peace. He gripped his bare chest and felt something wet on it. Glancing down at his hands, he saw that they were covered with fresh blood. His blood. It spilled from his thin fingers and on to the ground at his feet. His chest seemed to open, letting a river of blood flow down.

His eyes traveled from red pound at his feet over to a woman who knelt at the river but a stone's toss away. 

She was as old as Owain suspected his forefather, Rheiden, would have been if he had lived. Her bright white hair fell loose and went down to her knees, and her face was so fresh and beautiful he thought he was looking on a pure crystal.

As she bent over the river, her determined hands scrubbed at a crimson tunic. The water rinsed the whole of the garment until it was white again. The blood that had covered it ran freely down the river until it disappeared from sight.

“The Phantom Queen,” Owain whispered.

The old woman looked up then.

“Your tunic,” she said.

“Ie,” Owain said.

There was a touch of sadness mixed into the resolve on her face.

Chapter Twenty One: Knights and Other Dangers

The change of weather from warm to cold brought some comfort to Leola, who had felt overwhelmed by the heat. Nearly six months had passed since her arrival in Anlofton, during which nothing but the heat and temperamental animals had bothered the village. They had very little contact with other villages, which was a relief to Leola, as she wished to hear nothing about the terrible battle of Holton and it’s now famed demise.

“You’re growing really big,” Erna said.

Leola had to smile at the frank comment. “Yea,” she replied. “But at least I have stopped vomiting.”

Leola's feet were propped up on the bench in the living room and a rolled up blanket was stuffed behind her lower back. Erna sat next to her, as close as she could, as Leola braided her hair into one long tail.

“When shall the baby come?”

“After Yeole,” Leola replied.

She was not entirely sure whether it would be a little after or a long time after that feast, yet she felt that her small cousin would benefit by the most definitive answer.

“That’s a long time!” the girl replied.

“Babies take a long time.”

The door flew open and Ead scrambled in, tripping over her own legs and stumbling to the dirt floor. Erna jumped up, but Leola had to push herself up to rise.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeee!”
Ead screamed.

“What is it?” Leola asked.

But the girl could not form the word.

“Breath in and relax,” Leola said, in a gentle voice. “Take your time. Now what is it?”

Ead inhaled deeply. “Britisc ridends!” she screamed.

“What?” Erna screamed.

“Riding up here!” Ead screamed. “I saw them! Two of them on horses! They’re coming! They’re coming!”

They have come to ruin the village!

Erna ran to the window.

“Stay away from that!” Leola hissed. “Put out the fire.”

Both girls went to the hearth to do it and collided in the attempt.

Leola leaned against the wall and peered out of the small window. She saw other women and children hurrying into the huts, and the smoke from the chimneys disappearing one by one.

“Jesus Christ, the Son of God, protect us all,” she whispered.

It seemed that an eternity fell between their frantic preparation and the sound of horses’ hoofs beating on the dirt road. Leola saw the scale armor and tall conical helmets of Britannae knights. Her quick ears caught two men’s haughty voices, and although she did not know how to speak in Latin, she understood enough to know what they said.

“You were correct, Catocus,” one knight said to the other. “This place is empty.”

“Not entirely, Diras,” Sir Catocus replied. “It seems we are both correct.”

Leola could not see where he was pointing to, but suspected that it was poor Bebbe who was probably still sitting on the barrel in the garden in front of her hut.

Please do not hurt her!

“Does she count as living or dead?” Sir Catocus said.

Leola heard the mocking in his harsh voice.

“Ha! Dead, I guess,” Sir Diras replied. “What a banshee.”

Leola shivered.

“Here, water for the war ponies,” Sir Catocus said.

Just let the horses drink and go. Just go
.

They were out of Leola's view, for she dared not open the window more than the crack that it was, but she heard them draw up some water from the well and fill the trough for their mounts.

“Here is the living,” Sir Diras said.

Leola held her breath.

“What is it?” Sir Catocus asked.

“A pretty thing,” Sir Diras said.

The town filled with a violent scream.

“
Ic bedece the!” a young voice cried.
“I beg you!”

Leola did not have to see
the  speaker to know that the pleading words were Drudi's.

“No!” Leola gasped, and then covered her own mouth lest the knights hear her as well.

“Do you want her, Catocus?” Sir Diras asked.

“No. She’s yours,” Sir Catocus replied. “Enjoy.”

Leola breathed in deeply, pulling together all the courage she could. Her right hand went to the apron knot tied at her back and pulled out the intricate knife she had taken from Owain’s tent.

“What is it?” Erna asked.

“Shh!” Leola whispered. “It’s Drudi. I have to help her. Stay here.”

Erna and Ead clenched each other and huddled in the far corner of the living room.

Leola pulled the door open and crept outside. She noticed the other women peering out of the windows of their huts, yet none ventured outside but the little dryhtcwen.

Fridiswid glanced at Leola and showed her the rope in her hand. Leola showed the dryhtcwen the knife. They knew each other’s intentions.

Jesus Christ, Son of God, help us
.

Leola’s slow footsteps brought her just behind Sir Catocus. His broad hand stroked the side of his animal, and his head leaned off to one side. His relaxed manner showed her that he was not aware of anything except for the commotion before him. Drudi's plight was clearly entertainment to the man.

Leola's fingers felt the smooth leather grip of the knife in her hand. Her quick eyes caught sight of the bit of exposed skin, where the leather gorget around his neck did not reach up to his ear.

I cannot make the same mistake I made with Owain.
For if I do, we shall all die
.

Leola crept up close behind Sir Catocus and held her breath. Then she made a quick step forward and plunged the blade deep into his white neck. His arms flailed and batted her away. She backed off, her left hand holding her protruding stomach to guard the baby from the attack.