The Beast of Caer Baddan (44 page)

Britu thought his uncle’s decision would prove inefficient in the kingdom’s ever shifting political sphere. Thus, he shut his lips only with the resolve to inform his parents, whom he hoped had more influence over King Irael then he himself possessed.

“Besides,” King Irael said with a smile, “I have Leola now, who has proved to be invaluable with politics. It was she who overheard the Dobunni plot.”

“Really!” Britu exclaimed.

“They had spoken freely before her, not realizing that she understood any Latin. Life is a funny thing.”

The evening dragged on into the billowy night. They played three whole games, before King Irael fell fast asleep in his chair. Britu then opened the book the king had been reading and scanned its contents back and forth, but his mind would not focus on the words written there.

He hated to admit that Leola was correct in her assessment of him, even if it was a silent acknowledgment to
himself. Yet the truth was there. He loved killing. He loved war. He loved violence.

The most unsatisfying part about the truth was that it had nothing to do with Donwy. He had loved war long before he had seen its aftermath. He had loved violence because he had been an angry young boy venting his frustration over strict, unwavering parents.

Now looking back on his youth, Britu felt the cold sting of shame. His actions had been childish at best and tyrannical at worse.

“What a fool I am,” he said aloud to himself. “What an utter fool.”

King Irael snored.

The loud crash of thunder rang in the window shutters.

“Push, Princess,” came the commanding voice of the midwife.

Leola moaned.

She thought her whole body must be torn into a thousand pieces.

Please don't let me die!

“Push, Princess,” the midwife said.

She knew the midwife's voice continued steadily on, but it seemed to grow faint as if in the distance. Leola was certain that she, herself, was screaming, but did not hear the sound. Even the thunder raging outside no longer touched her ears.

The whole world went dead around her.

Leola felt her breath rushing out of her lungs, her
abdomen tighten, and a frigid sweat run down her burning forehead.

Owain saw the sorrow in the old woman's eyes as she held up the garment for him to see.

“Your tunic,” she said.

Her voice was soft and low, like the autumn wind.

“Ie,” he replied.

It was his very soul. He had given it up willingly for his people as a prince must do. He had surrendered himself to his fate and hoped that his mother would see the sacrifice.

And now the old woman held up the tunic in her aged hands so he could see it clean and fresh, fit for a new life.

Owain prayed it would go to his son, so that his father's line might continue on, and that his task in Albion, fighting invaders and uniting the kings, might be completed. It did not bother
him that he should not see the end of his work. He knew that all things were connected and that one generation picks up there another leaves off.

Thus he watched with quiet confident eyes.

The old woman walked up and handed the garment out to him.

“Take it,” she said.

“I cannot,” he said, and he felt his surprise was revealed in his usually cautious voice.

“You must.”

Owain hesitated, not sure whether it was possible, but the assurance in her eyes willed him on. His fingers found their way to the top of the garment, and it felt soft and light like downy feathers under his touch. With renewed daring, he grasped the tunic in his hands and slipped it over his head and covered his bleeding body.

At once, the wound closed up and the blood disappeared.

Leola knew she must be breathing, but no longer felt the air enter and exit her lungs. She knew that the midwife must also be talking, commanding her to push harder, but no voice made it to her ears.
The was no sound at all but a strange ringing in her head.

Then, as if her ears had popped, the room filled with noise.

“There, Princess,” came the midwife's reassuring tone. “Here's the first one.”

“Water!
Towel!” cried one of the servants.

“Got him,” said another.
“First born.”

“Tie it on his wrist.”

“Now the second, Princess,” the midwife said to Leola. “Push.”

“Mam!”
Owain cried.

He sat up with a violent start and flailed his arms in all directions. They struck something hard above and around him. The air was thick and stifling as if it were
dead, and there was the foul odor of urine and sweat.

He heard the fierce rumble of the thunder clap, amongst the howling of the wind and beating of the rain.

Owain's eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness that surrounded him. He saw the coarse bedding where he sat and the thick mud walls of a tiny hut that surrounded him.

He was neither in heaven nor in Hades, but on Earth.

Owain was very much alive.

Chapter Thirty Five: Blessings

The room spun around as if in some wild frenzy.

Leola felt the midwife’s assistants lift her up and take her to her bed.

She heard the joyous voice of Gytha, squealing with glee.

“They are two boys, Mistress!” the girl cried. “They look very well!”

Leola just lay there and wept, letting all of the fear and anguish of the last few months wash out of her heart.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

For that was as much as she could think.

Her whole body was numb from pain. She thought inside of her must be on fire, but the surface of her skin was cold and wet.

She felt the servants wrapping her up in blankets and wiping her face with cool water.

“Look, Mistress,”
came Gytha’s excited voice. “Here they are.”

Leola pealed her eyes opened to see the midwife’s assistants laying two babies by her side. They were red and wrinkled and the tiniest children Leola had ever seen. They moaned and whimpered, their eyes closed and their little fists pulled up to their faces.

“Oh,” she said through her tears. “They are perfect.”

Her weary hands touched their round cheeks and fuzzy hair, still damp from their first bath.

“They have red hair!” she gasped.

She laughed and wept.

God is good.

As the soft little babies nuzzled on her breast, Leola felt her whole heart swell up with happiness. They were so perfect, so beautiful,
so wonderful. The agony of the last few months seemed to melt away into oblivion. These tiny beings were worth everything that she had endured. Nothing would ever be too much to sacrifice for them.