The Beast of Caer Baddan (63 page)

In the morning, Owain was surprised to find that both Leola and Ambrosius were gone. He went outside to do his exercises and found her standing before a bonfire, the baby lying sleepily on her shoulder.

“What are you doing, Beauty?” Owain asked her.

“I’m sunning Ambrosius,” she replied, still facing the sun and not opening her eyes.

Owain gazed down on the baby’s bare back.

“The fire is to keep him warm,” she said.

“I see that,” he said, with a confused smile. “But why are you sunning him?”

“He was sick a few days after they were born,” she replied. “I thought and thought, what would my aunt, Redburga, do for a sick baby? And then I remembered. She would hold them to the morning sun.”

Owain thought how very odd that sounded, yet he was sure he had heard much stranger things purported in the name of health.

“And it worked?” he asked.

“Yea,” she replied. “It did. See how healthy he looks now? And he eats a lot too.
My big boy.”

Owain laughed and gave her a tender kiss on the forehead.

“You have a very wise aunt then,” he said.

“Yea.”

Owain thought of how his little girl had bragged the day after his return.

“But Gratianna thinks it is her wishing stone that has cured him,” he said.

“Yea,” Leola replied. “Do not tell her it is not.”

He laughed again.

King Irael did not return to the castle until that afternoon. The king expressed his pride over his son’s newest victory, and to Owain’s astonishment, gave Gratianna and both of the
babies tentative kisses. Somehow, Owain was sure that this conquest was the work of Leola and marveled at it.

“It seems you have made quite the impression on the people, my boy,” King Irael said, when Owain and he were alone.

“I'm glad that they are so easily impressed,” Owain replied, amused.

His father laughed. “Not the city of Corin,” he said. “They are the most unimpressed group I’ve ever known. And yet all they do is
cheer your name. They adore you, my son.”

Owain was pleased but it no longer mattered to him whether they did or not.

His father leaned close to him and gazed into his eyes with a long green stare.

“I was thinking,” he said. “You are stronger now, and the people love you and fear you, and I am getting so old. Perhaps I should abdicate and make you king.”

“Abdicate?” Owain said, horrified.

Whatever it was that he had thought King Irael might say
, Owain had not fathomed this. The idea of his father giving up his title to him had never entered his mind.

“Are you really that ill, Da?” Owain asked, in astonishment.

“Not now,” the king said, casually. “But I was so determined to live until the boys are grown. Now that you have returned, I do not need to fear for them or for Gratianna-”

“Do not leave me, Da, I beg you,” Owain said.

He had always thought of his father as an immovable rock that steadied him in even the most turbulent of times. Now with the thought of the king dying, Owain felt that his world was crumbling around him and that he might sink into some abyss.

The king laughed again.

“Do you not see, Son?” he said. “It is you who are invincible, not I. Not your ailing old father.”

Owain thought on this.

He had expected to be king one day. But to take the throne when his father was still alive, breathing, and healthy, he could not do.

“But I do not require you to be invincible, Da,” Owain replied. “Only to rule as you always have.
Justly, fairly, righteously. I am too much a warrior yet to be in one kingdom long. I thought I was done, but Leola showed me that I was not.”

“Ah,” the king replied, thoughtfully. “She has a knack for revealing things. What did she do?”

“She said I was a prince and that I did what is right for the people.”

“Well, there is truth in that,” the king replied. “No one has fought as many battles and won as you have. I suppose the island still needs all your time. You could hardly pay attention to the particular daily working in one kingdom.
Very well, then. I shall be king until I die.”

And he laughed merrily, and Owain shook his head at such grim words.

“Thank you, Da,” Owain said. “God willing, that shall not be for a very long time.”

The feast came, and both Swale and Britu returned to the castle at Baddan.

Leola was glad that she was not expected to greet anyone at this occasion. She was still far from comfortable with her command of Latin to give speeches. Thus she ate quietly, with her eyes cast down, and let Annon talk over her to Owain who sat at her left.

“Do you know what people are calling you now?” Annon asked Owain. 

He leaned far over the table to see around Leola, whom was seated between them at the head table.

“Oh? And what are they calling me?” Owain said to Annon.

“Owain Finddu,” the boy replied.

“Owain of the Black Lips,” Owain mused, his scarred lips forming a sarcastic smile. “Better then ‘Owain of the Burnt Face’ I suppose.”

Annon laughed. “They say not even the grave can conquer you.”

“He is Owain the Unconquered then,” King Irael said. “Not even by death.”

“To Owain!” Swale said, raising his cup.

The whole hall rang with cheers.

“To Owain!” they yelled and drank.

“And now, Britu, my nephew,” King Irael said, “where did you disappear to?
Swale has justified himself, and now must you. You thought I would not notice your absence.”

“I was hoping you would not,” Britu replied, with a laugh.

“Well out with it, Man,” Swale said.

“I was attending a wedding feast,” Britu said.

“Oh?” the king said. “Anyone we know?”

“I believe not,” Britu replied. “It was for Aluca King of the Gewissae.”

Aluca Aetheling of Tiwton! He is cyning now and has married!

“And whom did he wed?” the king asked.

“Some girl named Ardith,” Britu said.

“You have made peace then, with the Gewissae?” Swale asked. “That is good news.”

Leola heard from the prince's voice that he too was impressed by the change in Britu.

“To King Aluca and his new bride, Ardith,” the king said, raising his own cup.

The company was so engrossed in feasting that they cheered and drank to a couple whom they did not know, but Leola’s ears perked at the name.

“Ardith,” she gasped.

“What is it?” Owain asked, in Saxon.

“It is nothing,” she said, with a smile.

Nothing and everything.

She was relieved to hear that after the war, fear, and bloodshed, Ardith had not only escaped and found her way to Tiwton but had married the aetheling after all. Leola felt the flutter of satisfaction within her heart, that the words she had spoken to Britu may have had some positive affect on his behavior.

God is good.

Lord Meirchion approached the head table.

“A hundred thousand welcomes, Lord Meirchion,” King Irael said.

“Long life to you, King Irael,” Lord Meirchion said.
“And to you, Dominae, as well as victory over all of your enemies.”

“And to you, Lord Meirchion,” Owain replied.

“I was most grateful for your safe return to us,” the lord said. “And it is a blessing and a comfort to have your princess with us always.”

“Thank you, Lord Meirchion,” Owain replied.

The lord bowed to them and returned to his seat.

Leola felt Owain's forefinger and thumb gently stroke her bare elbow.

“You are a blessing,” he whispered.

Leola smiled in return.

God is very good.

Chapter Fifty One: Spring Time

Owain lay in the bed with his arm around Leola. His hand moved up under her head and slipped beneath her pillow. His fingers touched something sharp.

“What?” he said, in surprise.

“Hmm?” she said, not asleep but apparently too comfortable to move.

“What is this?” he said.

He slid a sharp blade out from under her pillow and looked on it in the dim fire light. His eyes recognized the form, design, and inscription.

“My missing knife,” Owain said, bewildered. “So you have had it all this time?”

“Yea,” she muttered.

Leola rolled over and glanced up at him, a sweet smile playing on her tiny lips.

“And why did you take it?” he asked, his own grin brushing her check.

“I like it,” she replied. “It has your trees on it. The rowan, the oak, the alder, the hazel, the willow, the ash.”

His jaw dropped in amazement. He had not realized that she remembered the words he had spoken almost a year before in his tent in Gewisland. He had not thought that she would find them of any significance.

“What is it?” she said.

Owain did not answer but instead bent down and sucked on her little lips. He heard her faint sigh as he released them.

“Well, you can’t keep it under your pillow,” he said. “You’ll cut yourself in your sleep.”

“I’ve always carried a knife,” she replied, “and I have never cut myself.”

“Carried, yea, I’m sure, but not slept with one I hope,” Owain said.

“You never know when it shall be useful.”

Owain's thoughts went to the Dobunni assassin that Lord Eisu had sent to murder her. His hands tightened, as he felt the man's head within his grasp.

“Yea.
I know that well,” he said aloud. “But keep it here in the frame.”

He reached over her again and stuck the blade down between the wooden bed frame and the cushioned mattress.

“Very well,” she replied.

Owain felt her little mouth nibbling on his neck as he leaned over her. He liked feeling her on his skin. He ran his fingers through her hair and messaged the back of her neck.

“Useful then?” he said, teasingly. “So, who was he?”