The Beast of Caer Baddan (40 page)

Leola's slow steps took her back into the sitting room, where King Irael waited.

“Father, was that Lord Eisu?” Leola asked.

Her heart was beating fast, pounding in her chest. She felt her hands shaking and clenched them to be still.

“He is,” King Irael replied.
“And one of his younger brothers, Prince Inam. It is only politics and soon shall pass.”

She stared at him and saw from his worried expression that he read her fear on her face.

“Daughter! You are pale!” he cried. “What is it? The baby?”

“No,” she gasped.

What shall I do? I must tell him, but will he believe me?

Leola returned to her seat and bowed her head that he might not see the dread rising up in her eyes.

“He said he was going to kill you,” she said.

“What?” King Irael said, with a start. “Why do you say that?”

“They spoke of it briefly in Latin. They did not know that I understand it.”

“Of course
they did not,” the king replied.

He was silent as if contemplating her words, and Leola thought him oddly calm for one who was marked to die.

“What else did they say?” the king asked.

“Something about a number,” she replied.

“The twenty eighth.”

Leola nodded. “I don't understand what they meant.”

King Irael took a deep breath and rubbed around his collar bone. He seemed to be in more physical pain then mental turmoil.

“On the twenty eighth of each month, the Circle of the Chieftains of the Dobunni meets,” he said. “Lord Eisu has just requested that I attend this next one, in two weeks.”

“What shall you do?” Leola asked.

“I shall have to forgo the pleasure,” he replied, and gave a hearty laugh. “I'm not a rash young boy to go rushing in where I know there is danger. I have done my fighting. That is all. Do not think of it again, Daughter.”

Leola breathed a sigh of relief. She did not believe that such a sick man should take that risk. But she had to wonder why he believed her over great princes of his own people.

“What is it, Leola?” he asked, sensing that it still troubled her.

“You never questioned his disloyalty, Father?” she asked.

“I have no reason to doubt your honesty,” he replied, with a shrug of the shoulders. “Besides, Lord Eisu proved long ago to be opportunistic.”

Leola noticed how quiet and absent he became as he said those words.

“Now, put it from your mind,” the king continued, brightening up once more. “We shall talk of other things.”

“Gratianna?” Leola said.

She found the child curled up into a tiny ball between an overgrown ash tree and the garden wall.

“What is wrong, Dearest?” Leola asked.

“What?" Lady Gratianna sobbed.

“Why do you weep?”

“I killed him!” she screamed.

Leola was horrified at these words.

Killed him! Killed who? How could a three-year-old child possibly kill someone?

“What are you talking about, Dearest?” Leola asked.

But Lady Gratianna was too upset to give an intelligible answer.

“Grandfather!” she finally cried, and continued to weep.

“Shh, there,” Leola said. “Don't be sad. He is going to be well again.”

Leola knelt down in the grass and tried to comfort Gratianna, her heart turning in pain over the sight of such a little child in so much agony.

“No!” Gratianna screamed, batting her hands away. “I wanted him to die, and now he shall die and it's my fault!”

“What? Why? Gratianna-”

The girl showed her what was hidden in the folds of her skirt. It was a smooth oval shaped gray stone.

“What is this?” Leola asked, confused as to what a rock had to do with King Irael's illness.

“A wishing stone!” the child cried.

“Oh, of course,” Leola said, although she did not know what that was. “What is wrong with it?”

“I turned it over every night so that grandfather would die! And now he is sick and shall die!”

You what? Why would you do that?

But Leola realized that chastising the child would not produce the answer she required.

“He is not going to die right now, Dearest,” Leola said, trying to soothe her. “Let us turn it over every morning and say a prayer for him to live.”

Gratianna stared at her with two huge questioning eyes.

“I… can do that?” she said.

“Certainly y
ou can,” Leola replied, with an assurance she did not feel. “It is a wishing stone, after all.”

“It is…”

“And you wish for grandfather to live,” Leola prompted.

“I do!” and the child laid it down on the ground. “Please let grandfather get better because I don't want him to die anymore.” She looked up at Leola as if to say, “Did it work?”

“There,” Leola said. “All better now.”

“Really?”

“I believe so.”

“I love you, mama!”

Gratianna scrambled to her feet and threw her arms around Leola's neck.

“Oh!” Leola said, her eyes swelling with tears. “I love you too, Gratianna.” 

She did not know if the child had been encouraged to call her that by her nurse or King Irael or if she had come up with it on her own. Whichever way, Leola did not care. Gratianna was now her own. That was all that mattered.

“You are not dead, I think,” said that strange lacking voice. “Not dead. You must rest now, you must.”

Owain felt a rough blanket cover him and a gentle hand on his burning forehead.

“You must sleep, I think,” the voice continued.

Owain strode through the lower passageway to front hall of the castle of Verulamium. He had been in the Capital of Lerion only twice before from his own memory, yet he found his way around the place with a great ease. Owain felt that most all of the castles, forts, fortresses and manor houses, built by Roman hands were designed in the same fashion, and were thus no trouble to navigate. He discovered the doors to the great hall in a heartbeat and went through.

To Owain's surprise the room was filled with people, dignitaries from the entire kingdom, and every eye was turned on him. They were dressed in traditional tunics, leggings, and robes, not the Roman clothing that they had long become accustomed to. Their gold chains around their necks and long staffs in their hands attested to the formality of the gathering.

Owain marveled at such an unusual sight.

“D
a,” he whispered, coming to his father's side. “Why are all these people staring at me?”

“O
ur clansman, King Iorwerth, has something he wishes to say to you,” King Irael replied.

Owain thought that “Thank you” was quite easily spoken without a huge audience, but held his tongue. He knew it was not his place to question the actions of a king and he did not wish to embarrass his father.

“Owain ap Irael ap Mascen,” King Iorwert said in Brythonic. “Owain o Caer Baddan, Mael o Glouia.”

Which was, “Owain son of Irael son of Mascen.
Owain of the City of Baddan, Prince of Glouia.”

“G
o on, Son,” King Irael whispered.

Owain moved forward passed the throngs of well-dressed onlookers and up to the throne where his clansman sat. King Iorwert came to his feet, and Owain saw that he held a magnificent sword in his hands.

“This is Calybs Sword of Togadum,” King Iorwert said.

Owain was astounded, for he knew well the stories of that mighty weapon.

It was forged in the secret fires of the Aracon and blessed by the druids. In Togadum's capable hands, it had slayed the most powerful men on the island. It was truly the greatest sword for the greatest warrior.

“Sixty years ago, your forefather, Rheiden King of Ewyas, Glouia, and Powys, discovered this weapon in the sacred lake,” King Iorwert said. “He left it with my grandfather for safekeeping until one worthy of it was found. That day has come. You, Prince Owain, are worthy of the Sword of Togadum.”

He handed the weapon out to Owain.

Owain hesitated at first, not knowing if he should even touch it. Yet under his clansman's solemn gaze, he gently lifted it up with the palms of his hands, grasped the decorative handle in his right hand, and slid it from its sheath.

The blade glimmered in the fire light, as if it too agreed to such an arrangement.

After nearly four hundred years, the famous sword would be wielded once more, and in Owain's hands, the island would not be disappointed.

Chapter Thirty Two: Confrontation

Leola soon found that Gratianna's affection for her was as possessive as it was long lasting.

“Come up to my room,” the child said.

She slipped her hand into Leola's and tried to pull her to her feet.

“I can't walk up stairs, Dearest,” Leola replied. “This baby is too big now.”

“Hm!” and the child ran out of Leola's room and disappeared down the passageway.

“She seems to like you, Mistress,” Gytha said.

“I am glad.”

Leola liked Gratianna as well and did not mind her stubbornness.

The child soon returned hugging a dark wooden box to
herself. The box was not very large but in her tiny arms it looked like a monstrosity. Gytha stepped forward to take it from her, but Gratiann shook her head. She pushed the box up onto the table by Leola's side and pulled a chair up to be close to both.

“What is it?” Leola asked.

“My treasure chest,” Gratianna replied. “Only the very best things go in here.”

“I see.”

Gratianna opened up the lid with the care one would afford an ancient scroll filled with sacred text and worth a king's ransom. There were only three things inside, the wishing stone, some coarse strings, and a small knife with a handle made out of animal bone.

“What are those?” Leola asked.

“Harp strings,” Gratianna replied.

“Harp what?” Leola asked, confused.

“Strings,” the child said, and seemed confused herself that Leola did not understand. “You tie them on the harp and then puck them with your fingers.”