The Beast of Caer Baddan (32 page)

He reasoned that children always like cake.

“Ie, Master,” the nurse replied. She took the child by the shoulders and directed her towards the door.

"But my butterfly!” she cried, her round eyes squinted in an aggravated frown.

The little girl stormed off, and her nurse rushed after her.

A servant came in as they left and bowed to King Irael.

“Master,” the man said, “the Bishop of Gloui is here.”

“The bishop, the lords, the good natured clansmen,” King Irael replied, worn out. “What do any of them say that is of any good? Send him in.”

Vitalius Bishop of Gloui had actually been King of Atrebat and Powys until
he

conceded
both to his son, King Gourthigern, and retired to the church.

The servant soon returned with the bishop and three young boys.

“Ah! Father Vitalius!” King Irael said, giving his uncle his religious title. “God keep you.”

“God keep you, Nephew,” the bishop replied.

“You look well,” King Irael said.

“Religious life suits me well,” the bishop replied. “I have brought my students to see your vast library. You do recall issuing the invitation?”

“Oh,” the king said, his eyebrows rising in remembrance. “Of course. Of course. Forgive me. I have had much on my mind.”

“I know,” the bishop said, his concern and sympathy written across his aged face.

“Perhaps we should see it another day.”

King Irael looked on the boys and could see the bright scholar that Owain had been in each of their young faces. Perhaps it would not hurt to try to be a little happy for one day and

forget all of the grief.

“No, no, Uncle,” he said. “They shall see it now. Introduce them.”

The bishop seemed relieved and presented the students one at a time.

“This is
my grandson, your nephew, Edernus,” he said.

“Ah, Severa's youngest,” King Irael said. “I have not seen you since you were a toddler. God keep you, Edernus.”

“God keep you, Uncle,” the boy replied.

“Honorius of Gwent,” the bishop said, indicating the second boy.
“And quite the young scholar.”

“A good attribute in a boy,” King Irael said. “God keep you, Honorius.”

Young Honorius replied in kind.

“And this is my godson, Vitalinus of Colun,” the bishop said, placing a proud hand on the last boy's shoulder.

“A privilege to bare the bishop's name,” King Irael said. “God keep you, Vitalinus.”

“God keep you, King,” Vitalinus replied. “I hope to follow in his footsteps one day.”

King Irael was delighted at these words. To have so many intellects there, reading, learning, and eager to apply their knowledge, was a joy.

“A worthy aspiration,” he said.
“Now then, this way. The library is at your disposal.”

They went out to the front hall and down the wide passageway to a large room along the back of the house. Books of leather-bound parchment, large scrolled maps, and smooth wooden star charts filled the shelves.

The boys marveled at the sight of it. 

“How many books do you have?” Honorius
asked, voice high with awe.

“Seven and
Sixty,” King Irael replied.

The boys seemed shocked at such a large number and stared around the room in amazement.

“I also have some ancient scrolls in those chests over there,” the king said.

The boys went to investigate.

“This is strange writing,” Edernus said, lifting one long scroll up for the rest to see.

“Take care with that,” the bishop said. “It is Greek.”

“What does it say?” Vitalinus asked.

The bishop's trained eye scanned the document for clues.

“It appears to be the book of Judith,” he replied.

King Irael gave a sad smile. Although the master of four languages, Owain had never taken to Greek.

A servant came to the doorway and bowed.

“A letter for you, Master, from Swale Prince of Ewyas,” he said, presenting the folded paper.

King Irael took it, broke the seal that held it closed, and sat down at the table to read. As his eyes flew over the parchment, they grew wide in shock. He read but did not understand, his mind refusing to believe what he knew was not possible.

“Can this be?” he gasped.

His right hand gripped his chest, to stifle a deep burning pain that raged there.

“Aurelius!”
Father Vitalius cried. “Are you ill? Ill news?”

For a moment the king could not speak, as his doubting thoughts concluded.

“Good news!” he cried. “If it can be true!”

He staggered to his feet, with his hand gripping the bishop's strong arm.

“I must go to Atrebat!”

“Atrebat?” the bishop said, in surprise.
“My son or your sister?”

“I must go,” King Irael muttered.

“What is wrong?” the bishop asked, his own eyes growing concerned.

“Nothing!” the king cried. “Everything is right! I must go.”

“When?” the bishop asked.

“Now.
I can entrust my books to you, Uncle.”

But the king’s thoughts were far from his library.

“Of course,” the bishop replied. “The boys shall not harm anything. It will be just as you leave it.”

“Good. God keep you, Uncle.”

King Irael did not wait for a reply, for he hurried from the room, calling to the servants to ready his carriage.

“He has been like this for half an hour, Irael,”
came the frantic voice of Owain's grandmother, Queen
Ceindrech
.

Owain did not care that she stood behind him, had been standing there,
coaxing him to lower his broadsword. He must kill the villain. That was all that mattered.

“What shall I do?” Queen
Ceindrech
asked.

“Go back inside, Mam,” These were the words of Owain
’s father, King Irael. “You should not see this. I shall handle my son.”

But Owain refused to stop and swung even harder, beating apart the pile of human meat and bone in the grass.

“No!” he screamed, but his throat was so raw, he hardly uttered a sound.

“Owain,” his father said.
“My little boy.”

At his father’s voice, Owain felt his arm slowing and his breath returning to his lungs.

“Da!” he cried. “He killed Mam!”

“I know, my son,” his father said. “I know. But you have avenged her. You have killed the murderer. Now do not think of it again.”

King Irael slipped his arms around Owain’s body, and Owain shivered in his

embrace
. He relinquished his weapon and laid his head down on his father’s chest.

“Ah, Da!”
Owain cried. “I love her!”

“I know, my boy,” King Irael replied, and Owain heard the pain and anguish in his voice. “I love her too.”

Owain clung to his father and wept bitter tears.

Chapter Twenty Six: Wife of a Prince

Leola did not remember when she fell asleep, but found that she was quite comfortable. Her back did not ache from lying on the soft pillows, and she realize in surprise that the crude sleeping mat that she was accustomed to sleeping on had actually been hurting her.

She did not have time to enjoy this feeling of ease and relaxation, for her mind was soon filled again with the terrible news.

How could Owain be dead? And that very day!

Leola could see him in her thoughts as clear as if he stood before her. She remembered every detail of the scaled breastplate that covered his body and every swirl of crimson paint across his handsome face. He smiled, tilted his red head to one side, and seemed to kiss her with his deep emerald eyes.

And that was the last time she had seen him, the last time she would ever see him.

Her head burned hot once more, as a wave of unknown emotions swept over her and threatened to consume her being.

Yet even in her anguish, she had to question herself.

And why am I so sad for it?

She had not known him more than two hours, and for most of that, she had feared him. He had been kind to her, but even that may have been a fleeting goodness. 

She did not understand why, but she was sad, and the more she thought on it, the faster gentle tears flowed down her cheeks.

With the morning came the servant women and the entire regiment of washing repeated from the day before.

Leola was even more surprised by this than she was the first time, for she could not recall ever bathing two days in a row. She was certain that the women had not washed more than their hands and face for a week. But they were servants, and she was not. Now she was a dryhtcwen, and she suspected that that made a difference.

She knew that Ardith had bathed a great deal once the winter snow had melted, yet she was sure even the earlmann's daughter would be shocked at anyone washing their body one evening and then the very next morning.