The Beast of Caer Baddan (77 page)

Chapter Sixty Two: News, Good or Bad

Two weeks later brought Britu, Swale, and Annon back to Baddan. Owain was pleased to see them but perplexed as to why they should visit without any apparent reason.

“Have you heard the news?” Britu asked.

“What news?” Owain asked.

“As Elder King, Cynan King of Venedotia has called a meeting of the Circle of Albion,” his cousin replied.

“Ah,” Owain replied. “I had heard that.”

“Well?” Swale said, as if prompting Owain to speak.

“What is it?” Owain asked.

Swale laughed, and Owain gave him a suspicious eye, unsure of what his clansman had done.

“Does it not seem strange?” Britu asked.

“It does,” Owain said, still frowning at Swale. “There has not been a meeting for four hundred years.”

“There has not been a Pendragon for over three hundred and sixty years,” Britu blurted out.

“A Pendragon?”
Owain said, more shocked than ever.

He knew the
truth of these words and yet wondered what it had to do with him.

“A Pendragon, Owain!” Swale cried.

“Prince Owain!” Annon cried. “They are meeting to elect you!”

“Exactly!”
Swale cried.

“I?” Owain said.
“The Pendragon?”

He could not fathom that the kings wished to elect anyone as the Pendragon. There had been so many powerful Romans, both generals and dominaes, who had declared themselves emperors, but no one had actually been elected by the kings to rule Albion. The Pendragon, the
ancient Brythonic emperor different from the dominion of the Roman’s, had not existed since the capture of Caratacus, more than three hundred and sixty years before.

“Why not?”
Swale said. “You were made dominae by the last emperor. You are a hero to every kingdom on the island. The Eire, and Pictii, and Angles, the Attacotti, and Saxons are all afraid of you.”

“And you are the only male line descendant of Mascen,” Britu said. “Whom else would they elect?”

“I'm sure I would not know,” Owain replied, his mind racing with the news.

“You shall be the Pendragon,”Annon said, his young voice revealing his own excitement.

“Are you sure that is why the meeting is called?” Owain asked.

“I am,” Swale said. “My father has had the summons.”

“I have had the summons myself,” Britu replied. “My father has made me Governor of Powys. I shall sit in the Circle of Kings and vote as well.”

“Congratulations, Britu,” Swale said.

“That is an honor,” Owain said, impressed.

“Thank you,” Britu replied. “But you see how we are sure of the election.”

Owain understood their certainty, yet it seemed far too wonderful to be believed. He had told Annon, over a year before, that he would never declare himself the emperor and thus become a tyrant like his grandfather had. The only way he would ever be emperor was if the Kings of Albion elected him. And now set in motion, was just that, a meeting that's only purpose was to make him the emperor. The greatest rulers of the island were traveling to the Capital to make Owain a true Britannae emperor. To make him the Pendragon.

“I do not know what to say to that,” Owain replied.

He felt as if his air had been knocked out of him.

“Say you shall attend!” Annon cried.

Owain laughed.

“I cannot attend until I'm actually invited, Annon,” he replied. “That would be presumptuous.”

“But when you are invited,” Annon said.

Owain was too bewildered to understand any of it.

“Of course,” he said. “It is only that I'm in shock. I never thought of being the Pendragon.”

It now came to him how many times he had considered his grandfather’s ill choices that had left the island in ruins, without funds, food, weaponry, or men, and defenseless to the ravaging Pictii. That had been the start of all of the troubles that plagued the land for the last twenty seven years.

King Gourthigern had hired barbarian mercenaries under the Saxon King Giwis to fight off the Pictii, only for those
mercenaries to seek control over his own kingdom. With the land further weakened and vulnerable, other Saxons attacked the Kingdoms of Ceint and Colun while Angles ravaged Went and Ebrauc. Even the Britannae's cousins the Eire took the opportunity to pirate the west coasts of the island. Owain was certain that all this had their flowering in Mascen's unnecessary and ill advised war.

And now, the kings would choose to make Owain their ruler, place him above themselves. Give him the power over the Circle when it did meet, the fortresses that spanned the land, the treasury that was still housed in Caer Gloui.

“You would be the perfect Pendragon,” Britu said.

“You would,” Annon said.

“I must consider this,” Owain replied.

“What is there to think over?” Britu said, with a merry laugh. “Say you shall be the Pendragon!”

“Say it!” Annon cried.

“I must think,” Owain replied.

He felt that he was far too dazed to understand what was happening.

“Owain,” Swale said, somber, “I should not want you to do anything without thinking it over, but I must advise you. The Kings of Albion shall not elect you as Pendragon as long as you have a Saxon wife.”

Owain’s mind had hardly understood the news, but to interpret it now seemed a strange and unreal experience.

“Probably not,” he said, baffled.

“She is not Saxon,” Britu said, irritated. “She is Frisian.”

“I do not think
that would matter to the kings,” Owain replied. “She is Gewissae. Saxon or Frisian or Angle or anything else shall not matter to them.”

“Then you know that you must declare the marriage nonexistent,” Swale said.

“You cannot suggest he do something so dishonorable!” Britu cried. “Besides, think of his sons! Now that he has an heir, you say forget them all!”

“He can always marry a Britannae,” Swale said, with a look of surprise at Britu. “There are few men in Albion who would not give anything for Owain to marry one of their daughters.”

“That does not matter!” Britu cried. “He would not find a better woman then Leola if he traveled the island twice over!”

“Britu, really-”

“Do not lord over me, Swale,” Britu said. “We are equals, you and I.”

“I was not trying to-”

“How could you suggest such a thing? Leola has been everything to this kingdom. She bore him two sons! She discovered the plot on his father’s life! She killed that detestable King Cadfan! And now, they say she has made peace between Owain and the Dobunni people!”

“True, true,” Swale said, annoyed, “but he can marry a Britannae and have seven sons.”

“Dishonestly!”

“And I ask you, who would condemn him for it?”

“That does not make it right!”

“Really!
Would you tell him to be with a Gewissae and throw aside the whole island?”

“I like Princess Leola,” Annon said, who seemed to feel excluded from the entire discussion, “but
we are talking about ruling over Albion.”

“This is a matter of integrity,” Britu replied.

“But what is right for the land?” Swale said. “For Albion? For the people?”

“Owain would be the Pendragon,” said Annon. “Think of it. The first Pendragon since Caratacus was taken from this land in chains!”

Owain felt as though they were speaking of him and forgetting that he was there, and the course the conversation had disheartened him.

“Peace,” he said, putting a gentle hand on Annon’s shoulder. “I appreciate your advice and opinions but this is a matter not for any of you to discuss. Now, let us feast.”

King Irael returned to the castle and joined them for the midday meal. Owain thought it odd that Leola did not appear for but
as he was still upset over Swale’s speech, he was glad for her absence. He did not feel he could address his clansman in her presence.

The meal was not over before a messenger arrived at the castle with a notice of summons for Owain.

“It is from the King of Venedotia,” Owain said, answering Annon’s unspoken question. “I shall attend the Circle of the Kings of Albion.”

He set the letter aside and ate, his turbulent thoughts spinning in his mind.

“Then you are to be the Pendragon,” King Irael said, when no one else ventured a word.

“If the Kings of Albion shall elect me, Da,” Owain replied.

He could not keep the hoarse sound out of his voice.

“There!” Annon cried. “It is true!”

“Of course it is true,” Britu replied, irritated at the boy.

“You shall give up Leola then?” Annon asked, in a quiet voice.

“Annon!” Britu cried.

“Peace,” Owain said. “You are brothers to me, but you must speak of this no more.”

Owain could not help but notice the swelling guilt on Swale’s usually calm face. He thought to ask his clansman of it but did not wish to continue any conversation. King Irael was visibly concerned but said nothing, for which Owain was deeply grateful.

The company soon returned
to their meal and other, less forbidden, topics.

Owain felt that he needed time to himself to process this news.

The Kings of Albion were coming to elect him as the Pendragon. It was the highest honor anyone could ever hope to achieve, and the King of Venedotia had thought highly enough of Owain to call the meeting.

A number of Roman Generals with their greedy eyes set on Gaul had declared themselves the emperor of the island only to cause bloodshed, starvation, and chaos throughout the land. Owain's own grandfather, Mascen, was one such man, who had drained Albion of valuables, men, and food, only to lose everything in a vain quest for supreme power over the Roman Empire.

Owain had long ago sworn that
he would be nothing like his grandfather, while his grandmother had insisted that he possessed Mascen's powerful soul.

Owain felt that this summons was a testament to his greatness, to his worthiness to wield Calybs, and to all of the victories he had given the Britannae over their enemies. It was a restoration of the honor of Owain's tribe, which had held superiority over other peoples of the island within their ranks before the Romans devastated their Army and captured their ruler. If Owain was elected, it would raise his tribe and clan high above all the other Britannae once more.

Perhaps most profound was not these, but the practical truth of the circumstance. As the Pendragon, Owain would take control of the treasury, taxes that had been meticulously collected for the last emperor the first three years of his absence, before the kings realized, in a mixture of horror and relief, the man would never again return to Albion. Taxes would also resume, meaning that Owain would no longer have to worry about paying, equipping, or feeding his soldiers. The many dozens of stone fortresses build by Roman hands that still lay empty all over Albion would also come to Owain's control. Their use would make defense of the island against invasion far more efficient. Owain's election as Pendragon could secure the land.