Owain remembered how just a month after his nineteenth birthday, the emperor had appointed him a dominae, head of the military. There was not much for Owain to lead at that time, for just after the announcement, the emperor gathered the last Roman legion that was left on the island and departed for the continent, never to return. Albion was left unprotected but for a few auxiliaries scattered across the land.
Owain was undaunted, however, and built up from nothing the Army of Albion. He defended his father’s kingdom of Glouia from the invading Eire and then crossed the waters into Eirenn and attacked his enemies on their own land. Some valuable crystals and other spoils of war that he had taken back from Eirenn he ordered sold in the market in Caer Gloui. With this income, Owain had outfitted his men with new armor and weapons and refortified their barracks in the greatest city on the island.
He then reinforced the auxiliaries and saved undefended kingdoms from other foreign invasion. Everyone of power soon recognized Owain as the dominae, and all of the common Britannae called him their hero.
For years after that, Owain went wherever he wanted to, doing whatever he wished, and gaining much praise for it. His enemies revered him, and only his closest friends dared criticize his actions.
Here in the hall at the castle of Atrebat, Owain leaned back in his chair, comfortable and at ease, and his unmoving confidence seemed to fill them all.
Chapter Eight: Of Servants and Kings
The sounds of laughter filled the mead hall. The warriors, men of all the towns of the countryside, gathered around the tables that stretched the length of the large room. A blazing fire went down the center towards the far back of the hall, where Sigbert Earlmann of Holton sat on his wooden throne, surrounded by the banners of the land.
“Today is a great day for us, Saex of Gewisland,” he said, raising his cup of mead. “Here sits with us our brave ruler, the great Giwis Cyning of Tiwton!”
The crowd erupted with cheers for their most powerful prince. He was praised even before the Saex had directed their long boats to that island. They had even taken to calling themselves by his name, the Gewissae.
“The mighty Wigmund Earlmann of Anlofton!”
The men of Anlofton shouted their approval of their distinguished ruler.
Sigbert Earlmann continued to announce eaach of the earlmenn by name, and the warriors for the different towns yelled and pounded the tables for their leaders.
“And all the warriors of the Saex!” Sigbert Earlmann cried.
Once more, men yelled so loudly, the whole hall trembled at the noise.
“We have gathered to strike off this long held yoke and stand free men of Gewisland!”
He took his seat again, as the warriors chanted his name.
“Hale Sigbert Earlmann of Holton!” they cried. “Hail Sigbert Lord of the Town of Hol!”
Giwis Cyning rose from his chair and put up two hands to quiet the crowd. “Long have been the years of servitude to these Britisc. Short shall be this war of freedom. Tomorrow, we shall spill Atrebat blood. Tomorrow, we shall burn Atrebat land. Tomorrow, we shall topple Atrebat walls. Tomorrow we shall stand victorious over their gods!”
“Hale Giwis Cyning of Tiwton, Cyning of tha Saex!” the warriors cried. “Hail Giwis King of the Town of Tiw, King of the Saxons!”
“Tomorrow, my brothers,” Giwis Cyning said, “Uuoden King of the Gods shall give us victory!”
The whole room erupted with the yells of praise.
Leola stood in the far back in the shadows of the banners, her blue eyes fixed on the men who crammed into the mead hall. She had spent the whole afternoon scrubbing the hall clear for the arrival of some five hundred warriors from all over Gewisland. Now that it was evening, her shoulders ached, and her hands were rubbed raw. Thus after the initial serving, Leola had found comfort and solitude along that darkened far wall, out of the glaring eyes of the other servants.
“Where is Leola?” one such servant asked another.
“She’s around here, somewhere,” the other replied, with a baffled look.
Leola was silent, not willing to reveal her location so that they could once again levy the hardest tasks on her. She shrank back further into the darkness as her eyes wandered about the room.
She watched the warriors with a mixture of sorrow and amusement, noting the blatant contradiction. They disregarded her today, as they feasted on the earlmann’s meat and drink. Yet tomorrow evening, when they returned victorious over the Britisc, one or the other of these same warriors would find his way to her hut demanding her attention. She was nothing any more, just a servant, but when the war was over, the men would still want her bed. They could ignore her one day, and demand her body the next.
With much dissatisfaction, Leola resigned herself to it. For it would be dishonorable to refuse the warriors. That was the way things were and had always been, and she had been a party to it since her thirteenth birthday. She would do it and eat wild carrot when it was done. The seeds of that plant had kept her from conceiving, as a proper woman must wait for marriage to give birth.
Leola had to laugh at the irony before her. The same culture expectations that would not allow her young mistress to lay with men, demanded that Leola do just that.
Her gaze caught sight of young Ardith, who moved around the tables, pouring mead to the warriors. This was one of the greatest honors a woman in Gewisland could have, but also the key role of the dryhtcwen.
One young stranger stared up at Ardith, as she refilled his cup.
“Hale Ardith Sigbert-daughter,” he said.
That is the Aetheling of Tiwton! Leola thought.
Gewisland’s sole cyning, Giwis, had multiples sons, indeed he had nine wives, one of the many privileges of being a cyning. But the eldest of his offspring, and Leola thought the most handsome of them, was his heir, Aluca Aetheling of Tiwton.
“And what be your name, brave one?” Ardith asked, cheeks blushing red.
“Aluca Giwis-son,” the aetheling said.
“The Aetheling of Tiwton?” Ardith asked, although Leola was sure she knew the answer.
“Yea,” he replied.
Even as Ardith left his table, her eyes stole over her shoulder at him still watching her.
As she returned to her own seat, she took Leola by the hand and pulled her along with her.
“Did you see the aetheling?” she whispered, with a demure giggle.
“Yea,” Leola replied.
“He looks very well,” Ardith said.
“Yea, Mistress,” Leola replied, “and likes to look at you.”
“Yea. I hope so.”
“Perhaps he shall make you his wife,” Leola said, lowering her voice down to a faint hush.
Ardith blushed and giggled.
“I would be his first wife, his cwen,” she said. “I should like that.”
Leola was glad. She felt that she could judge people more accurately than her sheltered mistress. Many a warrior had his eyes set on the earlmann’s daughter, but most of them were not good men. The aetheling seemed to be trustworthy, and his obvious admiration for Ardith herself, aside from her inheritance, made him a better candidate then the ambitious men of Holton.
“Leola!” a bristled servant cried. “There you are! Take this!”
He pushed a platter of bread into Leola’s hands.
“I must go,” Leola said to Ardith.
“We shall talk of it tomorrow, Leola,” Ardith replied. “We are friends, you know.”
Leola smiled at this and went, glad in her heart for perhaps the one friendship she had.
As Leola walked up and down each row and passed the large bread rolls out to the warriors, her glance fell on Fensalir, a warrior of Anlofton.
My uncle.
She looked another way, in the hope that he would not notice her.
“Leola!” came his rumbling voice.
“Fensalir,” she said, turning back and managing a weak smile.
He was more tanned than the
rest, with light brown hair instead of blond, and his long beard was braided into two tails.
“You look well,” he said, cheerfully.
“Yea, I am,” she replied. “How is my aunt, Redburga?”
“She worries for you. We still think you should sell the land and live with us in Anlofton.”
Leola frowned on his words, knowing that glimmer in his eyes was for a stack of coins, the payment for her parents’ property.
“Uncle-” she said, and she did not hide the annoyance in her voice.
“You have not seen the boys since I brought them over a year ago and you have never met the girls, your own cousins,” he said, defensively. “Think about it.”
“Yea, I shall,” Leola said, knowing her words to be a lie.
“It is not as though it is a vast property, Leola,” he continued. “But after we win this battle, the price you can get for it shall be much lower.”
Leola grit her teeth to contain her anger, she did not want to make a spectacle of herself here for all of Gewisland to see, yet she was irate hearing his false attention. He did not care about her or any of his relatives. The only thing he wanted was money to buy more mead, and she was determined to keep his greedy hands away from her parents’ land.
“I am working, Uncle,” she said.
“I’ll see you when we return from the battle. We’ll speak of it then.”
Leola nodded, with the resolve that she would avoid him more carefully.
Her parents had worked hard on their land, only to be sued in court over a goat. Leola was determined not to throw aside whatever small amount dignity their memory possessed by selling their fields. She knew that if she did that, she would have to go to Anlofton to live with Redburga and her family, handing over her money from the sale to Fensalir, the head of the household, who was likely to spend it all in a month. Leola refused to see what belonged to her go towards buying her uncle's mead. She was certain that he would promise to save it for her marriage but was too open-eyed to believe him.
No. I shall stay here, and pay off the debt with my work. If I should get through this year, I shall be free to do what I wish and marry whomever I choose.
With that thought, she went around another table until the platter was empty.
Leola noticed the seething eyes of the ridend Raynar, who had spoken to her just a few days before. She followed his vile glare to the other side of the hall where the men from Tiwton sat.
You are angry at the aetheling!
Leola realized at once that Ardith's attentions would cause a war amongst the Gewissae warriors.
Who knows what a jealous person would do when provoked?
Her eyes told her that Raynar was dangerous, but he was also one of the mightiest warriors in Holton. This next war against the Britisc might change that. There were many young men who had not yet had the opportunity to distinguish themselves in battle. Deep in her heart, Leola prayed that the young Aluca Aetheling would prove the champion. But even that would be in vain if he should be struck down by a fellow Saex warrior.
Should I warn the men of Tiwton to be wary of Raynar?
Another servant took the empty bread platter from her and pushed dirty bowls and platters on her with orders to take them out to wash. Leola, glad for the distraction, went as she was bid and washed until they were clean.
Leola was still cleaning in the kitchen after the warriors had gone to sleep. Her weary hands were raw from the scrubbing and the harsh soap.
“I suppose you can go, Leola,” said the head servant.
Leola did not wait to be told again, but threw out the dirty water and left for the creek. In spite of her exhaustion, she felt too dirty from the day’s toil to sleep. A good rinse was required before resting and the cold night air did not stop her.
The creek was merely a short walk down the slope from where the town sat. Leola sat down the mossy bank, pulled off her tattered shoes, and ran her toes into the frigid water. Slowly, all the weariness melted from her aching feet and was carried away by the stream.
God is good.
Then her thoughts traveled to her parents.
Sometimes, we do not know the purpose of things. That doesn’t mean there is no purpose.
A sharp pang filled the back of her neck and a driving force pushed her head down into the water. She struggled against it, but the water burned her nose and filled her mouth.
A bright light shined from the floor of the creek and floated up towards her.
Am I dying?
Suddenly, Leola was pulled out of the water, her whole body tossed onto the mossy slope. Her clothes were soaked through and clung to her. She coughed up water until her throat burned.
A wide hand felt up her neck.
“Raynar,” Leola gasped, her voice halted.
“You dirty, nosy woman!” he cried. “What have you been saying to Ardith?”
Yea. It is Raynar.
“What?” he cried. “You believe me to be unworthy of her? I, the Champion of Holton, the bravest warrior!”
“Ugh! Please!” Leola gasped. “Don’t hurt me!”
“You told her to like the aetheling, didn’t you?”
“No! Please!”
“I knew you were trying to keep Ardith away from me!” he cried. “I knew you didn't think me good enough to be the next earlmann! I’ll teach you to mind your own business!”
He bent over her, his large hands finding their way around her neck. His fingers tightened.
Leola’s right hand crept under her back and pulled the small knife out of her apron knot. The weapon’s handle firm in her hand, she struck.
Raynar screamed and pushed away from Leola, as if to knock her aside. Then his hands went limp and his whole body fell over in a heap.
Leola had neither thought or word, but sprang to her feet at once and rushed up the slope. Her right foot slipped beneath her and twisted in the wrong direction. A stinging pain shot up her ankle and leg.
“Agh!” she screamed.
Leola set her mouth, determined to get to the top of the slope no matter how her body might hurt. As the right foot would not take any pressure, she limped and stumbled until she climbed her way to the top.
Chapter Nine: Destruction of Holton
Leola limped all the way to the town’s main road, before she stopped to take a deep breath and regain some composure.
I’m alive! I’m alive! I’m alive!
She shivered, first at the thought of her close brush with death and than again for the chilly night breeze.
Leola gazed down at her soaked dress, bodice, and apron. Even in the dark night, she knew that she was a mess.
He tried to strangle me!
As she steadied her whirling head, she found herself surrounded by the bustling movement of a busy town. The women of Holton were scurrying up the road around her, dragging their sleepy children in tow and pushing her out of their way as they went. The very air they breathed seemed filled with panic.
“What?” Leola gasped, the burning from the stream water still consuming her desperate lungs. “What is it?”
“Leola!” one woman cried. “There’s the battle horn! War!”
War?
At first the words were incomprehensible.
“War!” the women cried.
“But that’s not until morning,” Leola said, stunned.
She listened to the bristling blasts of the sentry’s horn. It signaled battle, either for the warriors going to fight or if an enemy made war on the town.
“We are under attack!” she gasped, and her right hand made the sign of a cross from her head to her heart and from her right to her left.
“Into the mead hall!” someone yelled.
The women went, carrying what they could and dragging their sleepy children along. Leola had no time to return to her own house for belongings and so followed the rest of the women into the security of the mead hall.
The grand feasting room of Holton, that had only a few hours befor
e held every warrior in Gewisland, was now the sanctuary for the frightened women and children of the town. They went in and found places on the benches or along the walls. When all were inside, the women lifted the bar and placed it on its hooks across the door to keep anyone else out.
Leola went to the back wall and curled up on the floor. She was more exhausted than before, and now half drowned. What had happened but a moment ago played over in her mind until she wept.
“Leola,” came Ardith’s soft voice. “Are you scared?”
In spite of her shock and fear, Leola was impressed that Ardith had found her hiding place in the fireless room. Perhaps it was only because the Ardith had discovered Leola there so many times in the shadows under the hanging banners, that the search, even in the dark, prove an simple task.
“No, Ardith,” Leola said, wiping her eyes. “My head hurts terribly. Do not worry for me.”
Ardith sat down by her side, and Leola could see the terror on the younger woman's face.
“Yea,” Ardith whispered. “We were woken so suddenly.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“The guard said it was the Britisc. I heard him talking to Father. Father was dressed in an instant and left. I hope he is safe.”
Leola sighed.
She knew they must sit and wait until the battle was over, but waiting seemed an endless nightmare.
The screams and yells of war loudly echoed, and the harsh crash of metal and shattering wood resounded.
Ardith jumped at the noise, as if the walls were reaching out to grab her.
“Shh,” Leola said. “It is a battle. That's simply what they sound like.”
Leola had never actually heard a battle before but wished to calm her young mistress.
She tried to close her eyes and rest, yet the pounding of her heart would not be calmed. Her right hand moved to embrace her young friend, but there in an instant she realized that something was wrong. She held out her knife before her and stared at the drying blood, Raynar’s blood. She had not left the knife in the warrior’s back but had kept it firm in her grasp.
The Beast of Caer Baddan Page 6
