The Beast of Caer Baddan (49 page)

Leola thought about the Dobunni ruler she had overheard plotting to murder King Irael. She was not sure what she would do if he came to the castle.

“Leola?” the king said.

“Lord Eisu,” she replied, returning to the conversation. “Will he be attending?”

“If he doesn't then it shall be seen as treason, again,” King Irael replied, and seemed amused at the thought. “He shall come with his wife Queen Deire, who is a very sweet young woman. But do not worry about them. You shall only need to greet them.”

“You are not concerned about Lord Eisu?” Leola asked. “He did try to kill you.”

“That was not the first time he has attempted that,” King Irael said, his brow knotted in a deep frown.

Leola started in surprise.

“Not the first time!” she cried. “You mean he tried to murder you before?”

“Not murder, no,” the king replied. “But kill. He supported Ci... he supported an upstart some seventeen years ago. They waged war on me, but I beat them in battle and captured Eisu who was Prince of the Dobunni at that time.”

Leola wondered at the lord then, that he should have dared such a feat, but then perhaps this latest villainy was as much his younger brother Prince Inam's doing as his own. Two men often risk things that one would never do
on his own. Thus Leola was unsure of what her opinion of the lord should be and decided against further speculation.

“What happened to the upstart?” she asked.

For a moment, the king was silent, and Leola thought she saw the blood drain out of his pale face.

“He was killed,” he said, at last, and his voice turned to a hoarse whisper. “He was slain in a field outside of Caer Corin. Do not think of him.”

He took Leola by the hand and directed her around the busy room.

“Think on the festivities,” his green eyes brightening. “Everyone in Glouia has heard of the births. You are their princess and the mother of their future king. Tonight, they shall finally meet you.”

Leola was not sure if she would have the fortitude to get through the evening, but the king seemed to understand her fears.

“I shall be by your side the entire time, Leola,” he said.

I am glad
. 

Owain was certain of two things.

As his friends and family had not yet found him, he would never be discovered by them. They must believe him dead already, and as Owain was sure that he had been dead, he did not blame them.

He also knew that he could not return to them with such an excruciating pain in his back. He no longer cared how it had been injured, whether from his lowly bed of many months past or from falling on to some hard object. He only wished to relieve some of the agony so that he could make his way home.

A solitary tree branch was his only option.

Owain took hold of it with both hands and put his feet forward, hanging from it. As he tried to force his lower body down away from his shoulder blades, he felt the muscles in his back tighten, sending violent spasm
s
up and down his spine.

“Ugh!” he cried.

But Owain was a warrior and would not be undone by anything, even his own battered self.

He set his jaw and pulled with all his might, and though his being filled with pain, he did not stop until his back bone was set aright.

Chapter Thirty Nine: From the Under-Earth

“I must leave, good sir,” Owain said to the hermit.

He was sure he had only been up and about for
under three weeks but felt that if he stayed with the solitary man, he should go insane.

Owain had come to realize that the spring had long ago changed to summer and then to autumn and that even now it was becoming winter. Perhaps that was what the hermit meant when he had said that it was cold and then hot and now cold again. Owain was not sure but thought it wise not to inquire it of his host.

“You shall go home to your mother and father, I think,” the hermit said, with an understanding nod.

These words were casual enough but struck hard in Owain’s heart.

He could see his mother's eyes staring up at the sky and the blood pooled around her butchered body. She had given up herself for him, her son, but she should never have had to. He felt that it was he who should have protected her.

Even as a young boy, Owain was trained to do battle. Pain was viewed as something to ignore, and he was taught to press on in spite of physical injury. He had learned to fight with a host of different weaponry including his shins, elbows, and bare hands. He had seen men deprived of their heads for some crime many times and knew that his duty was war for his family, his clan, and his people. For that was the way of things.

His mother was nothing like that.

She had never harmed another person, ordered an execution, or been trained for war. She gave money to people to build churches and orphanages, and sewed new clothing for the poor children of Baddan. She was not a killer, but a saint, for that was her world.

His mother had always carried a knife as women often do, yet not once did she use it until that horrible day.

Owain knew that he alone could have prevented her death. If only he had willed his feet forward and his right arm to swing, he would have taken the traitor's head off.

With a stinging sadness, Owain realized with that the summer had indeed passed, and with that season had gone both his twenty sixth birthday as well as the seventeenth anniversary of her death.

“I'm going home to my father and daughter,” he said to the hermit.

It came to Owain that he would also be going home to Leola, for he was certain that Swale would have sent her to his father in Baddan. The idea of going home to a wife was strange and foreign to Owain, and he had to force the thought from his mind.

“Can you tell me if there is a road somewhere about?” Owain said, aloud.

“No road. No road,” the hermit replied, sadly as if he pitied him. “Only my humble house, I think.”

For all Owain's patience, he could not gain any other answer from his unusual host.

“Well then,” he said, with a determined smile, “I shall follow the sun, the moon, and the stars. I thank you for your hospitality and hope that someday I may be of service to you.”

“I need nothing, need nothing,” the hermit replied. “But I thank you, thank you. You are a good man, I think.”

With that, Owain gave the man a regal bow, threw his tattered wool brat over his shoulder, and strode off into the forest.

Owain knew by the sun's southerly travel that he should put his back to it for a northward journey. The Dumnonni and the Gewissae both lived in the south compared to his father's kingdom, Glouia. The Dobunni people lay in the southernmost part of Glouia, but the Three Cities, the pillars of the Island of Albion, lay further to the north of that kingdom. Owain guessed that he had more than fifteen miles to traverse before reaching Caer Baddan. This was the southern most of the Three Cities and his home.

His heart swelled with anguish as he marched on north towards his goal.

“I am Owain ap Irael, Prince of Glouia, an Andoco of the house of Rheiden,” he said aloud, and the words gave him strength.

It was hours before Owain found a solitary dirt path and chose its northwestern direction. His legs and feet began to ache, and the pain throughout his back was ever present. His worn linen tunic and leggings proved insufficient protection against the cold day.

His eyes brightened with hope and reassurance as the forest opened before him to reveal a snug little village.

The people were about their business tending fires and penning up animals for the night.

Owain was conscious of his own weakened form and thought it best not to let the people know that he was a prince. His wool brat, although originally of six different colors, was now so tattered, worn, and dirty that he knew none could make any distinction from it. His costly armor he had already cast aside, but the shining gold chain that hung around his neck would give his identity away. This, he slipped within the collar of his tunic, out of view.

“I beg you, Woman,” Owain said. He spoke carefully, lest his words should offend her. “Can you tell me where Caer Baddan is?”

To Owain’s utter shock, the woman shrank from his view.

“I apologize for my ill kept appearance,” he said, with a charming smile.

“It is the winter solstice feast, Stranger,” she replied.

Before he could ask a second question, she turned away and went away without a backwards glance.