The Beast of Caer Baddan (6 page)

Chapter Five: Assassin

The supplies were packed the next day along with the gifts that the grateful Brigantae people bestowed on them, and the whole Army made its way southeast out of the Kingdom of Gododdin and into Catraeth. Their thoughts turned south, but Owain was ever willing to deter those plans.

One sunny breakfast found Owain with Swale, Britu, and Annon sitting in the meeting tent in the center of their camp.

“Message for Swale Prince of Ewyas,” a servant said.

Swale took the parchment from him and cut the seal with his knife.

“From Ewyas?”
Britu asked.

“My father wishes to know if I would have him bid for Lady Gweldyr.”

“Ah,” Britu said, with a knowing look.

Owain nodded, thinking of the situation in the West that may soon result in war.

“What?” Annon asked, with a confused frown on his young face. “Who is Lady Gweldyr?”

“An heiress,” Britu said.

“The heiress at the moment,” Swale said.

“You know of the Demetae?” Owain asked of Annon.

“I do,” the boy replied. “They are Eire.”

“The Prince of the Demetae is dead.
Died last fall. No son means that the daughter inherits the kingdom. She, Lady Gweldyr, is now seen as a most valuable match for every prince in the West.”

“It is ridiculous,” Britu said. “Those grown men, fighting over a child like some bad comedy play.”

Annon’s eyes went wide with horror at these words.

“Do not take offense for my sake, Prince Annon,” Swale said with haste. “I have no desire for my own sons to be entangled by this. I shall write to my father insisting that he stay
away from the matter. Besides, I vowed long ago that I would not dictate my children’s marriages.”

Owain laughed at the thought.

“Ah,” he said. “Prudent now that you have a daughter close to marrying age?”

“No, no,” Swale said. “I assure you.
Always prudent regardless. And my little girl is nowhere near marrying age.”

Owain shook his head to say he knew that statement to be false.

Another servant entered the tent.

“What is it?” Britu asked.

“Messenger from Vindi King of Ebrauc to see the Dominae,” the servant said.

“Send him in.”

“King Vindi?” Swale said. “He invites us to a feast.”

“Too much feasting makes us indolent,” Owain replied.

“Oh, please, Prince,” Annon begged. “I have never been to Ebrauc. Let us go there.”

“We shall see.”

The messenger entered the tent and bowed to them. “My master, King Vindi begs the presence of Owain Prince of Glouia.”

“When does King Vindi wish to see me?” Owain asked.

“Now, to please you, Prince,” the messenger replied. “I am to show you the way.”

“For what purpose?”
Britu asked, his brow knotted in a deep frown.

“I was not privy to that information, Prince,” the messenger said. “I am only a humble servant.”

Owain put out a quieting hand to the young man. “I shall come with you. Wait at your pony while we get our things.”

“Are you actually going to him?” Britu asked, his anger rising within his flashing eyes.

“Of course,” Owain replied. “Why not?”

“Why not?”
Britu cried. “You are the dominae and an Andoco of the House of Rheiden! King Vindi should come to see you himself!”

“Britu!”
Swale cried, irritated with his anger.

Owain gave his cousin a weary smile, for he knew that Britu was never patient enough to understand anyone or anything.

“Prince Britu is correct,” Annon said, to Owain. “The king is not showing you proper respect. You are the only dominae left here when the Emperor took the legions to Gaul.”

“True,” Owain said. “But that King Vindi and King Coel are sworn enemies.”

“How does that excuse his ill manners?” Britu asked.

“If King Vindi enters any Brigantae land, such as here in Catraeth, he shall be assassinated,” Swale replied.  “It is very difficult to make peace between the Parisi and the Brigantae. Perhaps in time, they shall come to terms, but until then, we cannot demand that King Vindi risk his life or the safety of his kingdom just to show Owain a little respect.”

“Oh,” Annon said.

Britu was silent.

“I must prepare for the journey,” Owain said, rising. “Annon, you are coming with me. Britu, Swale, your choice.”

“We are coming, Clansman,” Swale said, immediately.

Owain nodded and left the meeting tent.

Owain was almost to his own tent, when he noticed the raging flames dancing on one cloth wall of the knights' dinner tent but two hundred strides away. The knights and servants hastened to take the tent apart and stomp out the fire.

Owain stood there before the commotion, seeing something with his mind's eye but not comprehending it.

At his own tent, he realized that both his guard who always stood at the entrance and his six servants were battling the flames.

“A fire is an excellent detraction,” he said to himself, at last coming to a conclusion.

As he entered, Owain placed both armor-plated forearms out in deflection and ducted low to the ground, rushing into the darkened room.

A sharp battle ax came down hard and struck the carpeted ground just behind Owain's quick steps. Owain stopped his own body with a firm planted hand to the carpeted ground and turned about to see his would-be assassin.

His attacker appeared much like Owain, probably five and twenty years of age, young in society but with nine or ten years of experience at war. They were
both strong, pale, and green-eyed, but there was where Owain was sure the similarities ended.

In an instant, Owain noted that he himself had never stooped so low as to assassinate someone. Owain decided that no prince, no matter how lowly, would risk both his reputation and family honor with such a feat.

The man had fallen over from the force he had put into his strike and now lay crouched on the carpets. Before he could raise his ax for a second attack, Owain's bent leg straightened, shoving the dull nails at the bottom of his boot into the man's left temple.

There was a faint crack of the skull. The assassin fell limp and was still, his eyes bulging out and his mouth hanging open.

“Prince Owain?” came a woman's gentle voice from the tent's inner room.

“A moment, Lady Rhian,” Owain replied.

He rose up and pushed the body out of his tent with his armored shin.

“Master!”
Leir cried, as he ran up from putting out the fire. “What is this?”

“A murderer,” Owain said.

“Who would try to murder you, Master?” the servant cried, his face turning green from fright.

Owain looked on the body but was unsatisfied with any identification. There was no embroidery or color to indicate the man's clan and social standing. The style of tunic suggested the South Country, but Owain was unsure beyond that.

“A Dumnonni, I would guess,” Owain replied. “Although the man has taken great pains to hide his identity.”

For the Dumnonni were be the only people he could think of that wanted him dead more then they needed his assistance.

“Get rid of him,” Owain said

“Ie, Master.”

Leir called the other servants to drag the body away, and Owain was left to muse.

“And if it is the Dumnonni, what
are they doing now that they should plan my death?” he said to himself. “Is it King Tudwal once more or another who has commanded this?”

He knew the Dumnonni king well from the opposing side of many previous battles, but could not come up with a reason for the man to actually attempt murder.

Owain was uncertain what to conclude from it and thus shook his thoughts off and went back inside his tent.

Chapter Six: The Angle

“Prince Owain?” the woman’s voice came again.

Owain walked through the large outer room of his private tent and pulled the curtain at the far side to reveal the inner chamber. There within, sat the speaker, a young woman, sitting comfortably amongst the cushions and blankets on his cot.

“What was that noise?” she asked, sleepily.

“Nothing of importance, Lady Rhian,” Owain replied.

He went to a wooden stool that was pushed into the corner of the small tent room and picked up a white tunic with the wide open neckline of a woman's garments and a long strip of cloth.

“We must go,” he said, handing over the garments.

“Oh? Why?” she asked, and gave him a mischievous smile.

“King Vindi has requested my presence and it is possible he may require yours as well. Let me help you back on with your armor.”

The lady gave him a sly smile. “And you are my servant woman now?”

“Why not?”

“Don’t look,” she said, with a laugh.

“Oh?” he said, in mock surprise. “Just last night, I saw every freckle on your body, and now you say ‘Don’t look.’”

“You are so very bad!” and she laughed again.

Owain turned around and waited, knowing that she was wrapping the linen strip of cloth around her upper body to keep her breast still while she rode chariot. Once the lady had slipped the tunic on over her head and pulled herself from the warm blankets, Owain took up a cuirass breastplate and fitted it on her, securing the front and the back piece together at the sides and shoulders.

“Are you going to tell me what has happened to my king?” she asked.

“Does something have to happen for King Vindi to request my presence?” Owain asked, amused at the thought.

He took up her armored-plated skirt and secured it around her waist just beneath the breastplate.

“No one sends for the Dominae this early in the morning unless they are about to be killed,” she replied.

Owain could see her resolve in her serious face.

“Very well then, Lady,” he said. “I suspect that King Vindi needs me to fight for him.”

“Are you going to?” she asked.

“I am a warrior. I must.”

She laughed. “Well, don’t let them scratch your pretty face.”

Owain just smiled.