The Beast of Caer Baddan (76 page)

“Shh, Beauty,” Owain said. “We shall speak of that later. For now, focus on the little ones. Tell me what they have been doing.”

“Euginius is crawling,” Gratianna said. “And now Ambrosius wants to crawl too.”

“That’s good, my love,” Owain said over his shoulder. “But let Mama talk.”

Gratianna went back and forth throughout the garden chasing bugs, leaving Owain and Leola to each other.

Leola let out a little giggle. “It is true,” she said. “Euginius is crawling, although it is very slow. He is an ambitious little boy.”

“As long as he doesn’t run off to the North Country to fight the Pictii.”

“Hopefully not for a very long time,” she replied. “They are both of them cutting teeth. They shall soon want our food in place of milk. And you can see that their hair is changing color.”

“No longer red,” he replied, gazing down at the babies.

“Yea,” she said. “But a mixture of red and blond I suppose.”

“Yea. It almost looks almost like gold,” and he smiled. “A fitting color for princes.”

Princes!

Her sons were aethelings, princes, and when they were grown, they too would command people’s fear and respect just as Owain had received from the knights and soldiers and everyone who saw him.

Owain knelt down close to the infants and touched their soft tunics with the palms of his hands.

“What is this they are wearing?” he said in amazement.

His fingers traced the embroidery on the cloth, following along the intricate boarders and caressing the symbols on their chests.

“I finished my embroidery,” Leola said, hesitating.

“This is what you have been making?”

“Yea,” she replied. “Do you like it?”

Owain gasped. “I love it,” he said, his voice revealing his surprise and delight. “They are my trees.”

“I copied it from the knife.”

Owain looked over at her, gazing into her eyes as if he could not get enough of them.

“What is it?” she said.

“I am glad to be home, Beauty,” he said.

She could not help but smile.

“I am glad too, Owain,” she replied.

She let her head rest in his hands and closed her eyes. Somehow, she felt her whole body relax under his touch.

He was home again. Everything was perfect.

After Queen Madge and Annon were gone north to Pengwern, Owain found Leola alone in the serenity of her outer room. He wrapped his arms around her, as she let out her tears on his shoulder.

“It was so terrible!” she cried. “His face, staring out into nothing, as if life itself was slipping from his eyes!”

Owain held her tightly in his arms, rocking her back and forth.

“Weep, Beauty,” he whispered in her hair. “Get all of the anguish out. You shall feel better once you have let it go.”

She sobbed and whimpered, but he felt her push closer into the comfort of his body.

“He was going to kill the babies!” she cried. “Father said it is because of the Isca. But why? Why murder infants?”

“I have taken care of the Isca clan,” Owain replied. “They shall not bother you or the children again. No one shall ever try to harm you.”

“Taken care of them?” she gasped, her eyes growing wide with horror. “How?”

“Sometimes the only way to end a war is with peace,” Owain replied. “I have made a peace with their new king, and unlike King Cadfan, I believe he will keep it.”

“I am glad,” she muttered. “But I was so frightened. And worse still, I was angry!”

“Yea, Beauty,” Owain said.
“Of course. He threatened our children. Of course you were furious.”

“I never knew I could be so incensed,” Leola moaned. “Or that I would be so glad to see a man die!”

“Yea,” Owain said. “Now, do not think on King Cadfan again. He was a coward, and not worth any regret. None of them are worth any regret. Not Lord Eisu, or that assassin, or the ridend in Anlofton.”

She stared up at him in shock.

“How did you know I killed a Britisc ridend?” she gasped.

He had not actually known, but had guessed when he saw the Roman style boats peeking out of the pile of skulls.

“Leola,” he said, running his fingers over her head and through her hair. “Listen well to what I say. None of them are worth any regret, or any thought, or any consideration. Do not dwell on them. I do not want your heart poisoned by horrible memories the way mine was. Do you understand?”

She nodded affirmation, and he held her in the security of his embrace.

“But you are not angry at me?” she asked.

“What?” he said.
“Of course not, Beauty.”

He kissed her over and over, until
the her tears dried and her breathing returned to normal.

Gratianna played the harp for Owain that evening as they relaxed in the sitting room.

“I beg your pardon, Prince,” the steward said to Owain, “but shall you be attending the Circle of Kings?”

“The Circle of Kings?”
Owain said, his eyes wide in surprise.

Owain was certain that the Circle of Kings had never met in either his or his great-grandfather’s lifetimes. He could not see how
was it possible that one was called now.

“The king has been summoned to the Circle of Kings,” the steward replied. “I thought that you might attend as well, as you are the dominae.”

Owain shook his head, in bewilderment.

“I have had no summons myself,” he said. “I suspect that Cynan King of Venedotia has done this, for he is the Elder King, but why?”

“You shall have to ask the king, Prince,” the steward said.

When the servant left, Leola ventured a word.

“Perhaps one of the kings is in conflict with another?” she asked.

“I hope not,” Owain replied, with a laugh. “It took me six weeks to settle the dispute between Lerion and Went.”

“Well,” Leola said. “It must be important to call kings away from their lands in the middle of the year. What if one kingdom should be attacked while its ruler is at this meeting?”

“True,” Owain said.
“But no worry for that. I shall have the Army mobile as long the kings are in Gloui.”

Yet he could not think of a logical reason for the kings to meet at all. Or more strangely, that his father had not mentioned it when he was in Corin.

Owain did not let the mystery of the forthcoming circle bother him, for he had greater things on his mind since the war against the Angles.

Owain was sure that his mother knew of his struggles and had released him from the debt he had always felt he owed to her. The knowledge of this lifted a burden from his shoulders.

What he was not certain of was whether he was ready to lead a sedentary life or if he might become restless for want of travel and war, disquieted from staying in the confines of Glouia and aching for a major battle that might never again arise in that land.

Owain laughed over his contradiction, that away he should wish to be home, and that at home he should then wish to be away. He felt that his heart was resolved on the matter of his retirement.

His father was well, healed by the caring hands of Leola, and thus Owain would remain with the Army. He would not retire his position, but keep on fighting for the kings and the people, as long as he could.

Owain stood first before the statue of Mascen and for the first time, he saw the turmoil that his grandfather must have faced at such an uncertain time. How Mascen must have debated every action he took and decision he made.

Owain then strode over to the statue of himself, which his father had erected in memory of his death the year before. It was repaired and back on its stand in the most prominent place in the room.

Owain realized with some surprise, that he had avoided it every time he entered the armory. It was a horrific reminder of not only his death but of his own former beauty. He recognized now, with satisfaction, that it did not pain him to look on it. He could see himself for what he had been, handsome and devilish.

Finally, he made his way to the statue of his mother. She was cast in bronze and gazing down on him with calm serenity.

He reached out and touched her polished foot.

“Thank you, Mam,” he said.

He knew that the statue was just a piece of craftsmanship, and yet felt in his heart that his mother had heard his voice.

He heard the gentle steps of Leola enter the army and come up behind him.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“Of my mother,” Owain replied.

“You miss her.”

Owain thought on these words for a moment.

He did miss his mother, was certain that he always would, but her memory did not leave a gaping hole in his heart as it had before. He could think on her with peace and satisfaction.

“Yea,” he said out loud. “But you know what they say, our ancestors’ souls are granted to us. Perhaps her soul was given to Gratianna.”

“So, does that mean that our souls shall live on in our grandchildren?” Leola asked, as if trying to understand.

“Perhaps,” Owain said, a little surprise, for he had not thought of that before. “Yea, Beauty, perhaps they shall.”

His soul could go to one of their grandsons, for that would be the most fitting end to all the tragedy and pain that they had suffered.

“I am going to bed now,” Leola said.

Owain looked on her anxious face and could see the reddening hue in her checks. Her lips parted in a hushed gasp and her eye seemed to search his own.

“You are healed then?” Owain asked, with a gentle smile.

“Yea,” she said.

And he heard that nervous little flutter in her voice.

Owain cradled her head gently in his broad hands, and the tips of his thumbs stroked her soft cheeks. His lips brushed over her eyes and forehead.

“You do not have to be frightened of me, Beauty,” he whispered.

“I’m not,” she replied.

“Good.”

Owain swept her up in both arms and strode out of the armory towards her bedroom.