Born of the Sun

by Joan Wolf

  "He should not have hit you," Sigurd repeated.

  The trembling was becoming worse. Niniane looked at Ceawlin's friend with troubled eyes. How could she explain that it was not the blow that was distressing her so much as the fear that Ceawlin would never forgive her for what she had done? She clasped her arms across her chest and said determinedly, "We will have the marriages first, then dinner. I am going to put it out in the dining room, as there is not room enough in the reception room to seat all these people. The thanes will have to serve themselves and eat standing up."

  "Are you sure you are feeling all right?" the priest asked. "You should put a cold cloth on your face, Princess."

  "I will," she answered. Then, "Sigurd, would you mind telling the thanes to come to the reception room in an hour? We will have the marriages then."

  "All right," he answered, looked at her cheek with those hard eyes, and left the room.

  Niniane and the priest were alone. "He is a pagan through and through, is he not?" Father Mai asked. He was not speaking of Sigurd.

  "Yes," said Niniane, her voice low. "He is."

  "Your duty is to your children, my daughter. You did right in having your son baptized." Then, carefully, "If you wish to remain at Glastonbury, I think that can be arranged."

  "No!" Niniane stared at him with horrified eyes. "Leave Ceawlin, do you mean? I cannot do that, Father. I love him."

  "He is a beautiful young man, my daughter, and I can see how a woman would find it easy to fall under his sway. But I must tell you that in remaining married to him you may well be endangering your immortal soul."

  Niniane shook her head. "No, I cannot believe that. Ceawlin is a truly good man, Father." At the priest's look of skepticism she added impatiently, "Don't tell me no Christian man ever hit his wife!"

  "I cannot tell you that, of course ..."

  "Well, I will tell you this," Niniane said passionately. "I would far rather live with a man like Ceawlin, who loses his temper and knocks me down, than with a 'good Christian' who rules by icy despotism and blights every honest emotion with his disapproval."

  "Princess, I do not know of whom you speak, but I can assure you that the church does not wish to blight honest emotions."

  "I'm sorry." Niniane pushed a shaking hand through her hair. "Forgive me, Father. I'm upset. I shall go and put some cold water on my face."

  "Do that, my daughter," the priest said kindly. "In the meanwhile, I shall prepare to perform the marriages."

  * * * *

  The evening seemed to Niniane to go on forever. Ceawlin did not return for either the marriages or the feast, and Sigurd had to make the gift pledges over the beer cups. Niniane's cheek bore a distinct bruise, and while no one asked her about it, there were a great many speculative looks.

  "I will let the beer cups be filled one more time," Sigurd said to her when the platters of food were empty. "We must all be fit to ride in the morning."

  "Thank you, Sigurd." She smiled at him. "You are a good friend." She looked around the room, filled with the noise of male voices and male laughter. "I am going to go feed the baby now. I will be back later."

  He nodded. She could feel him watching her as she made her way out of the room.

  Her bedroom door was closed. Niniane frowned. It was always left open when the baby was there by himself, so that if he cried, someone might hear. She pushed the door open softly, so as not to wake him if he were sleeping, and stopped in surprise as she saw that someone had come into the room before her. It was Ceawlin. He was standing beside the baby's basket, looking down at his son, a distinctly apprehensive expression on his face. Niniane suddenly understood. He was looking for some outward sign of the baptism.

  "Ceawlin," she said softly, and came into the room, closing the door behind her.

  His head came up and he gave her a wary, almost hunted look. Her heart swelled with compassion. "Nothing has happened to Cerdic, I promise you. He is just the same as he always was."

  "If that is so, then why did you need to have him baptized?"

  "It is for the afterlife, not for this life. If he is baptized, then he may go to heaven when he dies."

  "I don't care about the afterlife," he said. "I care about this life. I care about fulfilling my fate in this life. And that is what I care about for my son."

  "That has not been changed. His destiny, his fate, whatever that is, has not been changed by the baptism. He still has all his strength, all his power."

  "A king must answer for his people, must stand between his people and the gods."

  She drew a long breath. "You believe in many gods, I in one. Whatever Cerdic believes, he will be able to answer for his people. He will be a king. He is your son, Ceawlin. Nothing can change that."

  He turned away from the basket and went to look out the window. After a minute she followed him. She put her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his back. He stiffened but did not pull away. "I don't want you to go to Glastonbury," he said. "I do not trust that priest."

  "All right. If you don't want me to go, I won't."

  There was a long silence. She kept her arms around him and closed her eyes, feeling the strong muscles under her uninjured cheek. "Perhaps I could go to Coinmail," she said doubtfully.

  He turned around, freeing himself, and looked down at her. The pale light from the dying day illuminated her face and the bruise on her cheek. "No."

  She searched his eyes, trying to read his thoughts. "I will stay with the women in Glastonbury," she offered. "I will swear not to let the priests do aught else to Cerdic."

  His face was closed. "You will swear?"

  "Yes."

  "All right," he said after a minute. "You may go to Glastonbury."

  They were standing close to each other but not touching. "It is just that I cannot think of anywhere else," she explained. "I do not want to go, Ceawlin." Her white teeth bit into her slightly chapped lower lip. "I wish I could go with you."

  He sighed, as if a hard vise that had been squeezing his lungs had just given way. "Nan," he said. He touched her cheek with his forefinger. Gently. "Did I hurt you?"

  "Oh, Ceawlin." Great tears brimmed in her eyes. "I did not want to disobey you. It was just ... I had to." She flung her arms around him and began to cry.

  "It's all right," he said. Very briefly his cheek came down to touch the top of her head. "Stop crying, Nan. It's all right." Then, "Look, now, you've waked the baby."

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  When Edric marched into Bryn Atha the following day, he found it deserted save for a few female slaves. The slaves were East Saxons and remarkably stupid; all they knew was that the prince had come to Bryn Atha several days ago and taken the princess away. Where he had taken her, they did not know.

  Edric set fire to the house and the stable and the storage barns before leaving, in a fury, to wreak the same vengeance on the tribe who had dared to shelter his enemy. The day was hot and the air was still thick with smoke from the burning buildings when the Winchester war band began its march along a forest track that gave promise of leading them somewhere. The Saxons had gone but a mile when, out of the trees on either side of the path, came an unexpected shower of arrows. The thanes shouted and cursed as they raised their shields to protect themselves from the death that was flying toward them from the wood.

  "Go after them!" Edric shouted, and several thanes began to run toward the forest, toward the men they knew must be hidden in the summer foliage of the trees. A new barrage of arrows flew through the greenish air and found their targets. Those thanes still standing retreated.

  "We must get under cover!" one of the eorls shouted to Edric.

  "Make a shield wall!" Edric shouted. "Those in the middle, hold the shields over your heads." The thanes crowded together on the track, which, even when they jammed together, was only wide enough to hold three abreast. They formed a long line, shields turned outward, middle shields overhead. The arrows continued to fly for perhaps an
other minute; then there was nothing. The thanes searched the wood, shields up, javelins at the ready. They found no one. Finally Edric called his men back to the path. They had four dead from arrows and two wounded.

  "We will return to Bryn Atha," Edric said bitterly. "If we go on, we are likely to find the same ambush waiting for us up ahead." Then, as the war band began to retrace its steps, "Name of the gods, when will we find an enemy to fight?"

  Summer passed into autumn. Edric quartered his war band in the old Roman houses in Calleva and the eorls quarreled among themselves as to what course they ought to pursue: return to Winchester or continue the hunt for Ceawlin. The Saxons were disgusted by the progress, or the lack of progress, of the war. They had lost over one-fifth of their own men and, so far as they knew, had not wounded Ceawlin in the least.

  Edric finally prevailed. "If we allow him to go free, he may very well rouse more of the British to join him. Then we will be facing him outside the gates of Winchester." The truth of this statement was reluctantly acknowledged by the other eorls. Edric's proposal also won reluctant approval: "Our first step," said Edric, "must be to lure him out of the hills, where he is safe. He cannot stand against us in battle. If he could, he would not be running and hiding like a fox with the hounds on its tail."

  After a great deal of discussion, the eorls finally agreed on a plan. They would lure Ceawlin out of the hills by pretending to return to Winchester. Then, when the prince had been fooled into thinking himself safe, they would fall on him and cut him to

  pieces.

  * * * *

  It was a day of unusual warmth for October when the scouts Ceawlin had posted to keep watch on the Saxons in Calleva came galloping into Bryn Atha. Ceawlin had been at the villa for the last month, for almost all the while the Saxons had been at Calleva. He had kept his thanes from idleness by having them rebuild the parts of Bryn Atha that Edric had burned, but the time had dragged. Now it seemed something was finally going to happen.

  The news was even better than Ceawlin had hoped. "My lord," said Bertred, one of the two scouts who had returned to report, "Edric has put all his men on the road to Winchester. It seems they are going home!"

  Ceawlin looked toward Calleva, as if he could see the road from where he stood. "Are you sure?" he asked, and then looked again at Bertred.

  "Yes, my lord. We watched them for at least ten miles before we came back here to report to you."

  Ceawlin let out his breath. "Well, that is good news, indeed. They must be going into winter quarters at Winchester. They have done nothing in the north for the last month, that is for certain."

  "They made themselves comfortable at Calleva, Prince, I can tell you that." It was Ine, Bertred's fellow scout, speaking. "They had wagon loads of food brought in from the vils near Winchester. I doubt they have taken it back with them."

  Ceawlin cocked an eyebrow. Edric had burned Bryn Atha's storehouses, and extra food would be needed for the winter. "Perhaps we ought to pay a visit to Calleva," Ceawlin said.

  Ine grinned. "There will be women there too. They came from all around this last month, once word got out that the gold-rich Winchester thanes were at Calleva."

  "A further enticement," said Ceawlin. "Food and women. Most certainly we shall march for Calleva."

  Ceawlin's men rode into Calleva late on the morning of October 22 and found the city as Ine had said, well stocked with food. There was beer as well, and the thanes broke open a barrel almost immediately. Most of Calleva's residents, having experienced one Saxon invasion, stayed inside their houses with the doors locked. As Ceawlin had given orders that none of the British in the city were to be harmed, they were left largely undisturbed. Of far more interest to Ceawlin than the impoverished British were the sackfuls of grain he and Sigurd discovered stacked in the Christian church.

  Ine had been right about the women as well as the food. There was a gratifying number of British and Saxon whores in the city who had gravitated to Calleva in the hope of earning gifts from Edric's men. These entrepreneurs seemed perfectly ready to offer their services to Ceawlin's thanes, and by and large the offers were enthusiastically accepted. Between the beer and the women, the thanes were in no mood to load sacks of grain, and Ceawlin prudently decided to give them a day and a night before reminding them of their real reason for coming into Calleva.

  He was standing on the steps of the forum, contemplating the grid of city streets lined with Roman houses, when a feminine voice said to him in Saxon, "My lord, would you care to come and see my room?"

  Ceawlin looked down to the step below him and saw a girl with corn-colored hair and long-lashed blue eyes gazing up into his face. When she saw she had gotten his attention she smiled. "It is not far," she added enticingly.

  He had not had a woman in months, not since Niniane had left for Glastonbury. This girl was extremely lovely and his body let him know, instantly, that her offer was very welcome. Without thinking, he put out a hand and touched her sunny hair. She lowered her lashes and gave him a long, seductive look. "Follow me, my lord," she murmured, certain from his gesture that she had won a customer. He moved down a step to stand beside her, but then, when she turned to lead him further, he stopped.

  He was surprised by his actions himself. Don't be a fool, he told himself impatiently as he stood irresolute beside the golden-haired whore. You need a woman. Niniane will never know. Then, when still his feet did not move: It could be years until you see her again. Do you intend to remain celibate the whole time?

  The girl was looking at him out of puzzled eyes. "My lord?" she said when still he did not follow.

  It was impossible. Of course he could not stay away from other women. It was ridiculous even to contemplate such an idea.

  But the irrational, instinctive, superstitious part of him was saying something else, was saying that Niniane was his luck, that if he betrayed her, then his luck might betray him. He remembered suddenly the words she had whispered to him as he saw her off on the road to Glastonbury. She had been sitting on the quietest horse they had in the stable, holding Cerdic in her arms. "When next I see you," she had whispered as she bent down to kiss him good-bye, "perhaps you will have another son."

  No other woman had given him a child. Niniane had given him Cerdic and she would give him more children. He was certain of it.

  He moved back up to the top step. "No," he said to the girl, and smiled to soften the rejection. "I cannot, sweetheart. Someone must keep watch on the road, I'm afraid, and I appear to be the only one sober enough for the job." Then he turned away from her and went down the steps on the opposite side.

  Ceawlin scowled furiously as he walked along the main street of Calleva toward the city walls. He was sure he had been a fool. His body was telling him he had been a fool. He almost turned and went back to find the girl. But he didn't.

  He was standing on top of the city walls watching the road when Sigurd joined him an hour later. He could tell from Sigurd's rumpled clothes that his friend had not been too scrupulous to enjoy the town's offerings. For some reason, this put Ceawlin more out of temper than ever. He glowered at Sigurd and said, "Is there a sober thane in the whole of this city?"

  "I doubt it." Sigurd ran a hand through his disordered hair. "Why don't you join in the fun?"

  "Someone has to keep watch on the road," Ceawlin returned disagreeably.

  "I don't see why," Sigurd said. "It is evident that Edric is returning to Winchester. He would not have traveled so far south if he were not."

  The ill temper left Ceawlin's face with startling abruptness, to be replaced by an alert look that Sigurd knew well. "He left too much food here," he said to Sigurd, but absently, as if he were not paying attention to his own words.

  Sigurd's eyes had followed Ceawlin's, but he could not see whatever it was that had brought that look to the prince's face. "What is it—?" he was beginning when Ceawlin suddenly swore.

  "It's Edric," Ceawlin said, his voice cold and hard. "By the hammer of Thor, Sigur
d. It's Edric. And he's got us trapped." Ceawlin swore again.

  Still Sigurd could see nothing, but he did not doubt Ceawlin's word. The prince's vision was legendary among his men. The blood rushed to Sigurd's head, then drained away. He felt instantly sober. "What shall we do?" he asked.

  "Get the men out of here," Ceawlin answered. "Now, Sigurd! There is no time to waste."

  Sigurd grabbed Ceawlin's arm as the prince turned to leave the wall, forcing Ceawlin to swing around to look at him. "You go," Sigurd said with deadly seriousness. "I mean it, Ceawlin. Save yourself. The men are all at least half-drunk; you won't be able to move them fast enough. I'll try to rally them, do the best I can to clear them out of Calleva, but you must leave now. You are the one we cannot afford to lose."

  "No," said Ceawlin, and pulled his arm out of Sigurd's grip. "We'll all get out of here together. Now, come on!"

  Sigurd was never afterward quite sure how Ceawlin pulled his men away from the beer and the girls, but somehow he did it. Within fifteen minutes the entire war band was in the saddle. They took the north gate out of Calleva but ten minutes before Edric marched in through the gate from the south. Ceawlin's men were still clearly visible from the city walls as they fled northwest along the road toward Corinium. Edric, who had initiated a mounted troop himself since the summer, took off in hot pursuit, his horsemen first, his foot following after.

  Within an hour, dark had fallen. "If they continue on this road," Onela said to Edric as the two eorls rode through the night, "the road will take them into British territory. Not friendly British territory, either."

  Edric grunted. "He must turn toward the hills. It is his only chance. He cannot afford to get himself caught between the British in Corinium and us."

  "He is probably heading toward the Badon pass again," said Onela grimly. "He will do the same thing to us he did once before, Edric. Take the pass from one side of the hills to the other, only this time he will be going in the opposite direction."