The Dragon Prince (37 page)

“Damn him,” Rhun swore. “I can’t believe
Rhiannon would let him do this.”

Balyn took his arm in an iron-like grip.
“The queen doesn’t command us. We’re the king’s men. And
he
says you’ll be staying at Deganwy.”

Rhun sighed. He could try to fight, but what
would that accomplish? Every man in the fortress answered to his
father. If Maelgwn didn’t want him to leave, he would not be going
anywhere.

He let the guards quietly escort him to the
doorway of the bedchamber, then turned and faced them. “If I’m
going to be a prisoner, at least let me have some company. I would
ask that Princess Eastra be brought to me.” In the torchlight, he
observed the odd looks on their faces and added quickly, “On my
honor, I will not harm her. My father knows that. I’m sure if you
ask him, he will agree to let me see the princess.”

Balyn cleared his throat. “I’m sure he
would, but that hardly matters. She left Deganwy a few hours
ago.”

“Left?” Rhun had been resigned to his
imprisonment, and accepted that his father had seen fit to
physically prevent him from joining Arthur. But this new
information aroused a kind of panic inside him. “How could my
father allow her to leave? Doesn’t he know Arthur has pronounced
her death sentence? How could he do something so foolish?”

Rhun started to push past his guards,
determined to somehow stop Eastra and get her safely back to
Deganwy. They grabbed him. He struggled fiercely, screaming,
“Eastra! Eastra!” A dozen men came out of the shadows. He fought
them all, but it was no use. Finally, hoarse and aching from the
ordeal, he was shoved into the bedchamber and the door locked
behind him.

Panting, he rose to his feet. He considered
beating on the door, seeing if he could get Rhiannon, his brothers
or sisters, one of the servants who remembered him—any of them—to
help him. He realized it was hopeless. There would be guards
outside the door, and they would let no one enter except those who
honored the king’s will.

He went to the bed and slumped down upon it.
Then there was a sound at the door, and he lunged up again. He
started forward, half ready to resume his fight.

But it was Rhiannon who slipped through the
door as it opened. She shut it carefully behind her and faced him
with a tranquil expression.

“How can you let him do this?” Rhun
demanded. “I’m a man grown! He has no right to control my life! To
dictate what I do!” He softened his tone. “Help me, Rhiannon. You
know this isn’t right. You once hid from Maelgwn for months and let
him think you were dead. You defied him because you resented the
way he treated you like a possession. Well, now he’s doing it to
me!
If I want to throw away my life in Arthur’s cause—as he
puts it—then it’s my right to do so! It is
my
life to give,
no matter how foolish he thinks the sacrifice!”

Rhiannon put her hand on his arm. “I can’t
sway him in this. He’s afraid. He feels he’s lost Bridei. He cannot
bear to lose you as well.”

“But is that love? Or simply his selfish
need to control me?”

“It is love. You have to understand. Maelgwn
has never really gotten over losing Aurora and the babe. That loss
near broke him, and he doesn’t want to endure such grief ever
again.”

Rhun shook his head. “I’ll never forgive him
for this. He’ll discover he’s lost me anyway. I think Bridei was
right to refuse to come here and have our father meddle in his
life.” A look of pain flashed across Rhiannon’s face. “I’m sorry,”
Rhun said. “I didn’t mean to remind you. If it helps at all, know
that Bridei wanted desperately to see you and his brothers and
sisters. But his bitterness toward Maelgwn won out. And now...” He
shook his head again. “Now I understand why.”

Abruptly, he thought of Eastra, and his
sense of anxiety returned. “I don’t see how he can keep me here and
yet let Eastra leave. Doesn’t he understand? Arthur has ordered her
death. How can he let her go out into the war-torn countryside?
Anything could happen to her!”

“She has an escort,” Rhiannon said. “Two
dozen warriors. Maelgwn believes she will be safe.”

“But where is she going?” A terrifying
thought came to him. “Surely she’s won’t go to Arthur. She wouldn’t
do something so witless, would she?” He had a sudden image of
Eastra kneeling before Arthur, offering up her life if the high
king would agree not to march off to war against the Saxons.

“Nay, she’s not going to Arthur, but to
Cerdic.”

The news struck Rhun like a blow. Eastra was
going back to her people. Although he knew she would be safe with
Cerdic, it still felt like a betrayal.

“She’s going to try to stop Cerdic from
fighting,” Rhiannon said. “She thinks once he knows Arthur has
spared her, Cerdic may be willing to agree to another truce.”

What an absurd, naive, little fool she
was!
Rhun shook his head. “Cerdic will never listen to her.
Never.”

“She feels she must try,” Rhiannon said. “In
her way, she is as stubborn as you are.”

“All her efforts will be for naught. Cerdic
is determined. Why else would he have killed Mordred? He could have
broken the truce and brought about this battle without murdering a
hostage.” Rhun couldn’t help puzzling over this. To kill Mordred
seemed wasteful and cruel. He had not thought Cerdic was either of
those things. He shook his head again. He didn’t understand why all
of this was happening. It was almost as if this final, terrible
battle was part of some inevitable plan. He knew there were those,
particularly among Arthur’s Companions, who would say this was all
God’s will. But he could not believe that. Why would God want
Arthur—his shining sword of truth—to die fighting a battle he could
not win?

Rhiannon touched his arm again. “Rest now.
You can’t change any of this. You must learn to accept it, and to
have faith that the Goddess is with you, no matter how terrible
things seem.”

Rhun gave a snort of disgust. Although he
admired Rhiannon’s placid faith, he could not share it. The thought
that either the Christian God or the Great Mother had a hand in
things no longer reassured him. Why had he been in Cerdic’s
longhouse that day to once again behold Eastra’s shining beauty and
lose his heart if the result was going to be pain and suffering for
both of them... and this absolute despair in the end?

Eastra glanced back into the darkness, back
toward Deganwy. This was the most difficult thing she’d ever done,
to leave Rhun, to tear herself away from the man she loved more
than her own life. But she had to do it. The babe growing inside
her represented the future, and she must try to influence that
future for the better.

The pain inside her flared into life. She
almost wished she’d never laid eyes on Rhun, or that he had killed
her in the longhouse all those years ago. Then she would never have
known this terrible grief, this suffering. But then, she would have
also never known those ecstatic moments in the hidden glen above
Deganwy. And she wouldn’t have conceived this child, this precious
life growing in her body.

She touched her stomach. There was a
tautness to her belly, a slight roundness to her lower abdomen, but
no other sign of pregnancy. It was her secret. Hers and Rhiannon’s.
She wondered if she should tell Cerdic about the baby. Would it
influence him to listen to her? Or give him another reason to make
war against the Britons? She would have to wait and see, to gauge
his mood when she saw him.

At the thought, she experienced a wave of
foreboding. It would not be easy to face down her massive
frightening uncle. But she’d done something similar with Maelgwn
and survived. She took a deep breath. According to her escort, they
had several days’ journey ahead of them. Plenty of time to plan
strategy. Or to lose her nerve.

* * *

They followed the coast, then turned north
to enter Manua Gotodin, a heavily forested country. They met few
people there, but when they did they had only to say the name
“Maelgwn the Great” and they were allowed to continue on
unmolested. Rhiannon was a princess of the Brigantes, the tribe
that dwelt in this land, and her marriage to Maelgwn had formed a
strong bond between the two peoples.

Eastra had been surprised to discover young
Beli was part of her escort. He told her he had begged to go and
his father had finally relented, muttering something about making
different mistakes this time. Eastra decided this must have
something to do with Bridei’s estrangement from Maelgwn. At any
rate, she was glad to have Beli for company, a familiar face among
her grim, serious guards. But there was a downside to traveling
with Rhun’s half brother. Sometimes the way Beli smiled or spoke
reminded her of Rhun and made the familiar longing rise in her
chest until she could scarce bear it.

* * *

After crossing the heavily forested lands of
the Brigantes, they traveled east toward the old Roman fort of
Eburacum. Here Cerdic had massed his troops, joining forces with
the Picts from the north.

A wave of horror swept over Eastra as they
neared Eburacum and saw the huge warhost spread out over the hills
around the fort. There must be ten thousand men, she thought.
Cerdic and his thanes and house carls were inside the ruined walls
of the old Roman settlement. To reach them, they would have to pass
through this whole vast army camp.

They neared the perimeter of the outlying
camp and were confronted by a group of small, swarthy warriors,
nearly naked except for leather loincloths and an abundance of
ornaments fashioned of bronze, shells, and feathers. They all wore
feathers in their long straggly hair, the bluish gray feathers of
the blue heron, and their faces were marked with blue lines and
symbols. As Eastra drew closer, she realized these men must be
Picts, the “painted people,” as the Romans had called them.

The tallest man stepped forward and spoke to
Owain, the leader of her escort. “Britons,” he asked sharply. “What
do you here among your enemies?”

“Not Britons,” Owain answered, “but Cymry.
We come in peace, as an escort for Lady Eastra, princess of the
Saxons. She’s here to see her uncle, Cerdic Hengistson, the Saxon
war leader. Will you take us to him?”

The man’s gaze rested on Eastra. He
scrutinized her, then moved off and huddled together with his men.
Eastra whispered to Beli, who was beside her, “Do you think they
will agree?”

“I don’t know. It depends on Cerdic’s
relationship to their people.”

Time seemed to drag on. Several of the men
glanced back at Eastra, their expressions awed and uneasy. To break
the tension, Eastra said to Beli, “How do they get those blue marks
on their faces?”

“They make small holes in the flesh, then
rub dye into the holes. As the flesh heals, the color remains. The
patterns they use are sacred signs, honoring the old gods.”

The Pictish leader returned. He motioned
with his hand, a gesture of deference. “Princess Eastra, we will
take you to your kinsman.” He looked at Owain. “I give you my oath
she will be safe.”

“As we have given our oath to protect her,”
Owain said angrily. He shook his head. “She can’t go alone. We must
accompany her.”

The Pict’s expression didn’t change. He
looked at Eastra. “Princess, will you allow us to escort you?”

“Nay,” Owain interjected. “I will not allow
it.”

Eastra stared at the strange small warrior
watching her. Despite his savage appearance, the Pictish leader had
such dignity, such a proud, fearless way of carrying himself. She
believed he would take any oath he gave very seriously.

“Do you believe in the Goddess?” she asked
him. “The Great Mother?”

He nodded solemnly. “We call her Anu.”

“Will you swear in Her name that I will be
safe?”

“I so swear,” the man answered.

Eastra turned to Owain. “I’m satisfied. I’m
certain I will be safe with these men.”

“I can’t let you go,” Owain retorted.
“Maelgwn commanded me to guard you with my life.”

Beli stepped forward. “Then I release you
from your duty to my father.” He nodded to Eastra. “I believe this
is what Maelgwn would have wanted.”

Owain’s gaze narrowed. “You’re scarcely more
than a boy. I would not even have agreed to bring you along if the
king hadn’t insisted.”

“Nay, I’m not just a boy!” Beli’s blue eyes
flashed defiance. “I’m a prince of the Cymru, and you will obey me
in this!”

Owain drew back, looking startled, like a
man bitten by a pet puppy. Then he looked at Eastra. She tried to
return his gaze with the serene, patient expression Rhiannon used
in getting her way.

After a moment, Owain said “I suppose I have
no choice. Maelgwn also told me to treat Princess Eastra as if she
were my own queen. If you wish to entrust your life to these men,
so be it.”

A vague shiver of fear went through Eastra,
although she tried to suppress it. That was exactly what she was
doing, entrusting her life to these fierce wild men. She took a
step forward and the Picts surrounded her, forming a wall of
warriors bristling with spears. She turned to say farewell to Beli.
“The Goddess be with you,” she said.

He took down her traveling pack and handed
it to one of the Picts to carry. “We will wait here for you,” he
said.

She shook her head. “I don’t think I will be
coming back. But... I will send word to you, some sign showing I am
safe.” She walked toward the Pictish camp.

She tried to hold her head high, to appear
calm and unafraid. Everywhere, men left their cookfires and tents
and approached her, staring. They came in groups, and Eastra noted
each clan seemed to have a distinctive animal symbol they
incorporated into their attire. One group wore bearskins around
their shoulders, despite the heat, and had bear claws strung on
leather thongs around their necks. Other clans carried the
wildcat’s spotted fur as their symbol, wore hawk feathers in their
hair or adorned themselves with boar tusks. One tribe had gone so
far as to smear a light streak down the center of their dark hair
so they looked like badgers, whose fur and striped tails hung from
their waists.