For a moment, she was silent and seemed lost in her own thoughts.
“You will take this off of me?” she asked, her own fingertips touching the iron slave collar that was still latched around her neck.
“Yea, Beauty,” he said, a little amused. “I shall.”
“Then, yea,” she replied. “I shall marry you.”
“Good,” he said.
His face filled up with a pleasant smile and as she gazed back at him, her own face brightened to match it. With that look he knew that she was his.
Owain leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear.
“Pick up your hair,” he said.
She gathered up her hair and held it at the top of her head. He took a knife out of one of the baskets and bent the iron latch off. Then he pulled the collar open, slipped it off of her, and tossed it casually on the carpet.
“Do you feel better?” he asked, with a merry laugh.
“Yea, Master,” she said, a wide smile forming on her own lips. “Thank you.”
“Not 'Master,' Leola,” he replied. “Owain.”
She looked surprised by these words, but his own smile seemed to ease her doubts.
“Owain,” she whispered.
It was his turn to be surprised for as she said his name, he heard a little musical sound seeping into her voice. It was just two solitary notes, but they warmed his heart like some soothing balm.
“Yea,” he said, soberly, quietly.
He promised himself that he would get her to say his name once more.
Owain returned to his place on the foot of the cot and touched her cheeks with his broad hands.
“Now tell me what do you want?” he asked.
“I… don’t understand,” she said, puzzled once more.
“What do you wish me to give to you?”
“Oh,” she said, as if still not understanding.
Her eyes wondered around, as if searching for something, and finally fell on his left hand.
“My ring?” he asked, trying to decipher her thoughts. “Do you want it?”
He took the carved ring off of his small finger and held it up for her to see.
“Yea,” she said, glancing at it.
“It was my father’s,” he said, his eyes growing soft and mild. “His grandfather had it made to match an ancient sword and gave it to him on his wedding day. Here.”
He put it in her right hand, folded her fingers over it, and brushed them gently with his lips.
“Take it, Beauty,” he said. “It is yours.”
He took her left hand in his own left and slowly wrapped the red cord around them. He knew that is was not tight nor did it hurt her, but she seemed disconcerted by the gesture.
“I shall take it off in a moment,” he said. “Shh. Do not be frightened.”
Owain tied the ends of the cord in a knot.
“My people call this hand-fasting,” he said, realizing that the Saxon probably did not do this. “We are now bound together in marriage.”
He searched her face and was pleased to see some understanding there. She was perfect, and he had her. There was only one more thing to do.
“By wind, and sea, and earth,” he whispered, “I pledge to you myself.”
He leaned over to her once more and kissed her full on the lips.
Chapter Fourteen: What is Known
Britu was walking out of the private tent area when he noticed that the soldiers, who had been eating and playing games before, were carrying their weapons and lining up outside of camp. He went to one of the knights who were standing by.
“What is going on?” he asked. “What are the soldiers doing, preparing for war?”
“Orders of the Prince of Glouia,” the knight replied. “We have had it from the centurion.”
“Why did Prince Owain give such an order?”
“It is not my place to question the dominae, Prince.”
“Of course not.”
Britu went back towards the private tents but not to Owain’s. Rather he found Swale and Annon in the meeting tent in the center of the camp.
“Owain has the soldiers up for war,” he said, forgetting his earlier complaint.
The look of shock on Swale’s face told Britu at once that he too had not known.
Owain stood in the center of the outer room, his arms outstretched. Six bald servants surrounded him holding different pieces of his clothing and armor. They fitted a fresh tunic on him first and then the breast plate, front and back made of sew together metal scales.
His leather boots were fitted around his feet and lower legs, and the long leather straps laced up the front of his shin. They put long iron leg plates around his shins and decorative gold bands on his wrists. His large hands were wrapped up in linen strips.
One of the servants crushed rowan berries in a small bowl and added some water, mixing it up until it was a creamy paint. Another servant took the paint on his forefingers and decorated Owain’s cheeks, chin, and forehead with crimson spirals.
The servants strapped his weapons belt around him and handed him his tall conical helmet and painted oblong shield.
Dressed thus, Owain looked over, passed the pulled back curtain and into the inner room. He saw Leola still lying on his cot with the soft blankets pulled up to her chin. His steady gaze caught her focus, and he, true to himself, gave her a pleased smile. She returned it with one of her own, just as he wanted her to do.
Then, he drew the curtain closed and left the tent.
“The men are assembled, the knights are ready, and we are all waiting for war,” Swale said, waving his hands in the air. “I ask you, why?”
“It is Owain’s doing, Prince Swale,” Annon said. “His order. He says we shall be attacked.”
“I would not be one to go against Owain, but this is ludicrous,” Swale said.
“I know,” said Britu. “The Gewissae are defeated. They’ll not raise another army here for months.”
“Years, perhaps.”
“Ever, perhaps.”
Owain entered the meeting tent and came to the round table where the three sat.
“Owain,” Swale said, “we await your word.”
“We are going to war,” Owain said.
“Really,” Britu said.
Owain caught the harsh sarcasm in his cousin's voice.
“It is true,” Owain replied.
“Why do you say that?” Swale asked. “How do you know?”
Owain wanted to tell them then what he felt and why he knew. “I am going to die,” was just on his tongue, but he held himself in check. He had never opened his heart to any of them, and although they were his closest friends, he would certainly not do so now. Owain would go to his end with the honor and glory of a true warrior. And they would have to deal with any shock that might come with his death.
“Because I know,” was all he said.
“Very well,” Britu said, but his irritation was clear in his voice. “Be secretive. But you must tell us who it is we are too fight.”
“I believe it may be the Dumnonni.”
“You believe it may be the Dumnonni!” cried Britu, as if not believing his ears.
“Peace, Britu,” Swale said. “Owain, we trust your judgment as our friend and leader, but this is most strange. We have scouts and sentries, and none of them have reported any activity from the Dumnonni or any other people who would attack us here. Owain, you do not have the Other Knowing. You cannot predict the future. You do not know that we shall be attacked.”
Before Owain answered, the head scout came to the entrance of the meeting tent.
“Permission to enter?” he asked, his voice frantic with important news.
“Granted,” Owain replied. “What do you have?”
“The Dumnonni are assembled, Dominae,” the head scout said. “They are full ready for war and marching north. They are coming here. Even within the hour.”
“Good,” Owain replied. “Gentlemen?”
The othe
r princes were surprised, but young Annon’s face was frozen in shock.
“The Dumnonni?” Britu cried. “Why them?”
“They… must be here for the invasion of Venta,” Swale said.
This was what Owain had not quite understood. He thought it strange that the Gewissae should plan an attack with only a few hundred men. But an agreement between the Gewissae and the Dumnonni, even though the Dumnonni were a Britannae people, would solve both tribes problems. The assassin attempt on Owain less than two weeks before was supposed to eliminate the one man who had the power to stop them.
Now the entire scheme became clear as fresh water.
“An alliance between the Dumnonni and the Gewissae,” Swale continued. “Odd, but not entirely surprising.”
“Surprising?” Britu said in blatant disbelief. “Unheard of!”
Owain, weary of giving any argument, was glad for Swale's continued speech.
“But the Dumnonni have always been enemies to Atrebat,” Swale said. “They are the ancient foe of the Atrebatae people and the long standing feud between the Isca and the Andoco has only furthered that wound. Dumnonni and Gewissae together is a partnership that we should have guessed would come about. If not today, eventually.”
“I know. I know,” said Britu, giving in at last to Swlae's logic. “But how did you know?” and he turned on Owain once more. “How could you possibly know?”
“Friends,” Owain replied, avoiding the question, “let us prepare an attack before we are forced to a defense.”
Owain led them out of the tent to the assembled Army. Britu and Swale went to their own places, and Annon stayed by Owain’s side.
“For the land!” Owain yelled.
“For the land!” the soldiers cheered back.
“For the land!” Annon cried.
“For the land!”
These words rang forth with such grandeur as to make the humblest man proud. They were one Army, united under Owain, the last dominae on the island.
He would go out to meet his death. It was only by this brave, final act that he would find peace. His mother had given up her life for him so selflessly. Owain would now relinquish his for his people just as willingly. He would go forth with honor, he would fight with abandon, and he would die in glory.
Owain would see his mother once more.
“Prince Owain?” came the treble voice by his side.
Owain looked over to see Annon, staring up at him with troubled eyes.
“Go find another high point,” Owain said. “This shall be a terrible fight.”
He swallowed hard, knowing that this would be the last time he should look on any of his friends.
“Please, Prince,” the boy said, “you must tell me. How did you know the Dumnonni were coming?”
A sorry lump swelled deep in Owain's throat and he could not answer.
“How am I to learn if you will not tell me?” Annon asked.
“It is not learned, Annon,” Owain replied. “It is known.”
“Then tell me, so I will know!”
Owain was silent as he glanced down on the boy whom he had taken care of for over a year. He had rescued Annon from the secret hillforts of the dreaded Attacotti. He had trained him to fight and taken him to nearly every kingdom on the island. He had watched over him, as if he was one of his own clansmen.
Owain had not thought of it before, but Annon had become to him the younger sibling he wished he had had. Annon was the brother Owain was sure he would have had if his father had not suffered a terrible fever that prevented him from begetting a second child. Owain had never revealed anything to Annon before, but now a throbbing pain within his heart wanted the boy to understand, if only to be brave against the ordeal.
“Please-” the boy begged.
“Last night I had a dream,” Owain said, deciding.
“So?”
“I have seen the old woman washing,” Owain said, at last.
“What?” Annon cried, his face went white with horror. “No! No!”
“It is true. All men are born and all men die.”
“It is a mistake. It is some mistake. You were tired.”
“Annon,” said Owain, with a shake of his head. “I have seen the old woman washing. She washed the blood out of my soul so that she could give it to another life. You know what the stories say. I have seen the old woman washing. Today, I shall die.”
“No!”
“It is so. Neither you nor I can stop it. What would you have me do? Run away from the battle like some coward? Even if I wished to flee, I cannot for the honored memory of my mother. Think better of it, Annon.”
“But-”
“Annon.”
“Very well,” the boy replied, his voice broken with tears. He drew himself up as if to be prepared against the calamity.
“Now go,” Owain said, pushing him away, “find some place to watch the battle. You shall learn more from that than from listening to me talk. Go.”
Annon went, and Owain found his own place in the army.
“The old woman washing.” he said to himself, “She shall give my soul to another, and God willing, to my son.”
Leola started awake.
She did not know how long she had been sleeping, but the whole tent seemed still and deserted.
She opened her right hand and found that the ring had made grooves in the center of her palm.
This really happened!
At first, she lay back down on the pillows, pulling the blanket over her head and bursting into a stream of embarrassed giggles, as the memory flooded back over her.
No one would believe that a Britisc aetheling had married her, a commoner, but in that moment she did not care. As far as Leola was concerned, she had laid with mighty Thunaer, the Saex god of thunder and the sky.
As she closed her eyes and listened to the silence, her being trembling with every remembrance. She could still feel his lip sucking on her sensitive skin and running the tips of his strong fingers up and down her body.
It slowly came to her that everyone, all of those servants of his, were gone off somewhere else. It seemed like the whole camp around her must be empty.
She sat up again, as if she had been affected by some potent herb and was only now returning to her senses.
He took the slave collar off of me! I can escape!
Leola pulled the blanket off and dragged herself up off of the cot.
She was surprised to find that she was tired, sore, and suddenly very cold. The pain in her ankle was dampened, but she knew that it would be too painful to walk on it as it was. Hugging one blanket around her, Leola pulled open the baskets and found a multitude of small weaponry; arrows, short swords, and knives.
Knives!
She took one small one out and found that it too had the same strange scratches along the handle and blade.
His trees, he had said, the rowan, the oak, the alder, the hazel, the willow, and the ash.
Leola shook her head, trying to throw these thoughts from her mind.
I shall not get anywhere if I sit here thinking about him!
The boxes revealed what she had actually been looking for, lose linen. She tore a strip off and wrapped it around her foot and up her tender ankle.
The dress had been pushed in between the cot and the tent’s wool wall, and although Leola knew it was there, she still had to pull the blankets off to find it. The garment was still too long and too tight, but it was a dress and therefore had to do.
Leola combed her hair out with the comb she took from the table and began to braid it into one long tail.
I am married now!
Married women did not wear a single braid, but put their hair in two tails. Leola undid her hair, combed it out again, and then deliberately parted it into two sides.
Should I?
Leola had to ask herself, for she wondered at an aetheling marrying a commoner. Perhaps he had seven or eight wives already, and so adding one more did not matter to him. It w
as not as though Leola was his first wife, his cwen. She was certain that she was not his cwen, for he had not given her any money.
But what of his ring? Surely this is of great value! Perhaps he meant in in place of money!
“No,” she said, resolutely. “I shall not be silly and think that I have any power or position just because some Britisc aetheling decides to make me his wife. I am one of many, and I shall not pretend that he thinks me anymore.”
Yet the marriage was there, and she was not going to deny it.
Leola found the cord Owain had used to bind their left hands together. This she cut in two pieces and tied them around the ends of her long braids.
She dug through the pile of blankets until she found a small light one, which she folded in half at the corners and draped it over her shoulders.
With the knife and ring in one hand tucked under the make-shift shawl and an empty basket in the other, she crept out of the room into the outer area of the tent.
There was no one there, nor was there any talking close by, and she felt daring enough to continue.
“Beauty.”
That was what he had called her.
Leola squared her shoulders in determination and mentally screamed at her wild thoughts.
This Owain of Baddan was a Britisc, an aetheling of her hated enemies. He and his Britisc warriors had destroyed her home and set her entire village on fire. He had probably killed her aunt's husband, Fensalir, and her employer the Earlmann of Holton. He had slain her people, the Gewissae.
Of course, these were the same people who had shunned her when she began working in the mead hall. But however ill treatment she had suffered under them, they were still her people, her village, and she was loyal to them.
Leola had willing lain down once for this Britisc aetheling, but she would never do so again, no matter how he coaxed her and called her pretty things.
She would escape from all of these Britisc. She would be free.
Leola pulled the tent flap back and stepped out into the gloomy day. She let out a silent gasp.
There, standing beside her, was the guard, the soldier who had held the tent flap open for them as they entered. He did not seem to notice her. She ducked her head and walked away, slowly but with precision.
The Beast of Caer Baddan Page 10
