The Beast of Caer Baddan (72 page)

The king convulsed, blood squirting and spilling out of the wound.

Leola had seen so much blood before when she had stabbed Raynar and when she killed the Britisc knight in Anlofton. Neither of these could compare to the fear, and pain, and agony of her labor, or to the joy and peace she felt from having the
babies safe in her arms. She had given birth  and she was not about to see her children harmed.

“You conceited beast! How dare you!” she screamed.

She yanked the weapon out of his flesh and stabbed a third time, pushing the knife even deeper into his body. The Dumnonni king fell over on his side, shaking and gasping for air.

“You think that you can talk a woman into letting you murder her children?” Leola screamed.

Then she cursed him in Saxon.

“Frige aetegath the!
Saexnaet abradwath the! Hel abireth the!”
“Frige torment you! Saexnaet kill you! Hel take you!”

Gytha was up and by her side.

“Mistress!” the girl cried, still half asleep and visibly frightened. “What is it? What is going on?”

“This fiend tried to murder my babies!” Leola screamed.

Gytha began yelling in Brythonic what Leola assumed was calling for assistance.

The guards were there at once, seized the crumbled man and hoisted him away.

The commotion was too much for the babies in the nursery, and Leola heard both their loud protests and their nurses trying to quiet them.

The door flew open, and King Irael rushed in.

“What is going on?” he cried.

“Cadfan King of the Dumnonni,” Leola muttered.

She dropped onto the cushioned bench and sobbed. Her head ached, and her hands trembled, as flashes of the whole ordeal flew through her mind.

“What happened, Daughter?” King Irael asked.

But Leola was too upset to answer.

She wept and screamed until her throat went dry, and King Irael wrapped his arms around her to comfort her.

Chapter Fifty Eight: The End of the Feud

Another long day's travel brought them northwest to the southern tip of Pengwern were they met up with the Army once more and camped for the night. As Swale had gone back home to Ewyas, Owain was able to spend some more time with Annon, who he felt dearly needed his guidance. As the Army slowly marched west, Owain took Annon hunting hart and found that it was a good distraction for the boy.

Two more days of marching brought the Army to the northern edge of Glouia, and Owain breathed easily knowing that at last he would be back with his family.

Owain's quick ears caught the frantic voice of the rider, even before the man had entered the camp.

“Urgent message for the Dominae!”

“I wonder what that is,” Owain mused.

“Perhaps another war,” Annon said. “We must then call Prince Swale and Prince Britu back.”

Owain noted the sober voice the boy spoke in and suspected that the excitement of carnage had worn off.

“Perhaps it is another invasion,” Owain replied.

Somehow, he was confident it was not another war.

The centurions pointed Owain out, and the rider came close to him and jumped of his mount, before starting his prepared speech.

“From Irael King of Glouia to Owain Prince of Glouia and Dominae of the Army,” the man announced in a loud voice.
“Cadfan King of the Dumnonni assailed the Castle of Caer Baddan and attacked the infant princes. Princess Leola slew him, and King Irael ordered the removal of his head.”

The messenger then produced a rough pouch that reeked of blood.

“His head, Dominae,” the man said.

Owain took the offered butchery but stared blankly at the man.

“Is there any word I should take back to the king, Dominae?” the messenger asked.

“Tell King Irael that I shall attend to the Isca,” Owain replied.

The messenger mounted his pony again and rode off.

The knights and centurions had gathered around Owain yet none of these men ventured to speak.

“Owain,” Annon said. “We must march on the Dumnonni and destroy them once and for all.”

“No,” Owain said, absently. “Sir-Knights, be ready to ride, but the Army shall return to Caer Gloui.”

He did not hear Annon's response but strode to his own tent and went into the inner room.

At first, the only thing that Owain felt was relief. If Leola or any of the children had been harmed, he knew that his father would have demanded his presence at once and not taken the trouble to send Owain a severed head. Thus Owain was assured that at least none of the family had been injured.

Then his heart filled with horror as he thought of how for a second time he might have lost one of them. But that soon changed to anger towards King Cadfan, whom he was certain had not only stolen that kingdom from the rightful heir but then clasped hands with Owain in peace. The thought of any man trying to murder a baby was so detestable that Owain could hardly fathom it.  King Cadfan had acted in the most disgraceful way, and Owain was sure that even the man's own uncle, King Tudwal, would have condemned him.

With that last thought
came the shallow uncertainty of the future. Owain had to do something, had to make certain that this would never happen again, had to make the Dumnonni and anyone else who stood against him fear him beyond death and the grave.

Two assassination attempts in one year was disastrous even though neither would-be had murderer had succeeded in his quest. Owain needed to dash all desires of a future attempt, least Leola be forced to live in fear.

Owain knew that any vain hope he had of ending the war between the Andoco and Isca clans was the invention of his own arrogance. It was simply not for him to do.

Then it came to Owain that there was another who was far better suited then
he for such a task. But first the Isca, all of the Dumnonni, and indeed all of the Britannae people must know that Owain was not to be trifled with.

The long journey south consisted of two princes, fifty knights, and over a hundred servants. They traveled with far greater speed than any army could have and in three days, found themselves on the outskirts of Caer Dore. As they went, the knights informed everyone they passed that the dominae wished to speak with the lords of the land. They were only at the entrance of the capital city for a few hours when the chariots arrived bearing the rulers or their respective representatives.

The Dumnonni capital itself seemed to have been swallowed by a haunting ghost. The people scurried around as if they were being chased, and the guards along the walls had fear in their eyes. Even the lords of the Dumnonni, who passed them by, had grave looks on their tired faces.

Owain was secretly pleased by this, for if the Dumnonni were already concerned about retaliation, then they would be much easier to frighten.

There were three things on Owain's person that he normally did not carry, a rock, a battle club, and the pouch containing King Cadfan's rotting head. With these he would end all attempts on the lives of those in his family.

Owain took Annon into the meeting hall and indicated for him to sit down on one of the benches along the wall. The lords and the warrioress sat on chairs in a large circle in the center of the hall, and the seat for the king remained empty.

“Owain Prince of Glouia and Dominae of the Army,” said the elder lord. “You wished to speak with the Circle of the Dumnonni?”

“Ie, Lords,” Owain replied, stepping into the circular floor they surrounded. “I have grievous news, part of which I'm sure you are already aware. King Cadfan attempted to murder helpless infants and is now dead for it.”

By a quick scan of their faces, Owain was assured that they had heard the grave details.

“His actions were his own, Dominae,” the elder lord replied. “We were both innocent and ignorant of such a plot.”

“Ie,” Owain said. “Unfortunately, his actions have cost him his life.”

“Of course, Dominae,” the elder king said. “As it should have.”

“I am concerned with the situation here, Lord,” Owain continued.
“That Prince Gadeon should have been over looked, and Prince Cadfan have been allowed to take power that was not rightful his.”

The lords shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.

“Perhaps Prince Gadeon should be king,” the elder lord replied.

“What could keep this Circle from accepting the Prince of the Dumnonni as king?” Owain asked.

For a moment the elder king was silent, and Owain noticed that the man's eyes searching the lords for an answer.

“Nothing,” one of the lords said, and the others joined him.

“Then we shall make him king,” the elder lord said.

“Good,” Owain said, nodding. “That is how it should be.”

“Is that all you wished to discus, Dominae?” one of the lords asked.

“No, Lords,” Owain replied. “I have one more thing to speak of. I began to suspect that every ruler in Albion wishes my family dead. I would not be effective as the dominae if I felt I could not leave Caer Baddan. How can I defend Ebrauc or Went against the Angle if I must battle assailants who wish to murder my wife, or children, or father? How than can I defend Ceint against the Saxons or Gwent against the Deisi? And if the Eire should ever attack Dumnonnia again, what then?”

Owain paused for a moment to let them ponder his words.

“My mother and father were Christians and taught me Christian ways,” Owain continued. “But my grandmother and her father, King Rheiden, worshiped the old gods and followed the old traditions.”

Owain thought on both of their words to him and how they had influenced how he acted and what he did. Now, they would be even more influential. Among the many things his grandmother had taught him, he remembered vividly how to curse.

He set the stone down in the center of the hall for the lords to see its perfect shape.

“You are great princes of renown,” he said. “I beg you then, bear witness to my solemn oath to the rest of the island.”

To the company's utter horror, Owain removed the head of the pouch and placed it on the smooth stone.

It was decomposing and barely recognizable, for five days of deterioration had done its heinous work. The hall filled with the putrid smell, and the lords covered their noses and months to guard themselves against it.