The Beast of Caer Baddan

by Rebecca Vaughn

“The villain.”

  Redburga set her stirring spoon down and rose to her feet.

  “Leola,” she said, her voice revealing her concern.

  “I should kill him, Aunt,” Leola said.

  I should have stabbed him a second time. I should have stabbed him in the neck. I should have-

  “Did he betray you, Leola?” Redburga asked. “Is that his child?”

  “What?” Leola said.

  She understood the question but somehow did not comprehend it.

  “Was he your lover?” Redburga asked.

  “No!”

  The idea of Raynar lying with her was so repulsive that Leola choked on her own air.

  “He was not my lover!” she screamed.

  “I understand if he was,” Redburga said, gently. “Husbands often pay little attention to their wives. They pay a lot of attention to other men's wives.”

  Somehow, Leola knew that Redburga was speaking from experience, yet did not wish to continue the idea and thus allow her aunt to believe Raynar had made love to her.

  “No,” Leola said again, and this time her voice was firm and commanding. “Most definitely not. Raynar is not and was never my lover.”

  “Then...” Redburga said, asking but not asking for an explanation for Leola's rage.

  “He was a suitor to our earlmann’s daughter,” she said, when she had contained herself. “He tried to kill me-”

  “Kill you!” her aunt’s face was filled with shock.

  “It is a very long story.”

  “Why would anyone wish to kill you?”

  “Please, Aunt,” Leola said.

  Redburga grew quiet, and Leola felt her watchful gaze.

  “Who is he then?” Redburga asked.

  “What?” Leola said, in annoyance. “I told you. He is a ridend of Holton. He wished to marry the earlmann’s daughter, and I suppose she must have rejected him. He blamed me for it and tried to strangle me. Satisfied?”

  “Oh. No. I mean, who is your husband?”

  Leola did not pretend to mishear the question, but she was unsure as to how to explain Owain to her aunt.

  “Leola?” Redburga prompted.

  “A Britisc aetheling,” Leola said at last.

  Redburga turned white and lowered herself onto a convenient stool, lest she faint onto the floor.

  “Here,” Leola said, pouring a cup and trying to make her drink. “Take some water.”

  “I’m fine!” her aunt gasped. “A Britisc aetheling! Leola! Oh, no! No!”

  She flailed her arms as if trying to gain some rudimentary control over them. Her face went white and her trembling jaw hung wide open.

  “Do not be so frightened, Aunt,” Leola said, guessing the cause for Redburga's distress. “He shall not bother to look for me. I doubt he’ll even notice I left. He is an aetheling. He has far more important activities to do than to search for a commoner. I'm sure he marries many women and says pretty things to them all. It is nothing to him.”

  Her words were in part to convince her aunt, yet also to persuade herself, for her heart now told her that something about the whole situation had been very strange.

  “I suppose…” Redburga said.

  Leola took up Redburga’s stirring to occupy herself, yet Owain now consumed her thoughts.

  She could see his pleasant smile, tender eyes, and thick, muscular neck. His merry laugh filled her ears, and she swallowed hard remembering how he bent over her and whispered “Beauty.” She touched his strong chest on her finger tips and felt his own calloused hands on her turn gentle as he caressed her body.

  “He was very handsome,” she said, without thinking of her words.

  “Was he?” her aunt asked.

  “Yea. Like Thunaer,” she said, thinking of the legends of the Saex god of thunder and of the sky.

  “Strong,” Redburga said.

  “Yea,” Leola said, absently.

  “And a good lover?”

  “Redburga!” Leola’s face flushed a bright red. “I'm not going to discuss that with my aunt!”

  “Very well,” yet her voice became sober again. “But I'm afraid of these Britisc returning here. Those ridends, they do whatever they want. How much more so their aethelings? And if this one does not want to lose you and he has the means to search every village in Gewisland-”

  “He shall not be looking for me, Aunt,” Leola said. “He will not send others to look for me. He is an aetheling. He does not care about one commoner.”

  “Leola-”

  “He shall not come.”

  Redburga did not seem convinced, but Leola was glad for an end to the conversation.

  Chapter Twenty: The Feast

  As the week continued, and Leola still did not bleed, she became increasingly convinced that Redburga's assessment was correct.

  I am pregnant.

  Leola tried to banish Owain from her thoughts, but knowing that she might be carrying his child within her womb only made her dwell on him more.

  She sought Drudi's companionship to distract her and purposed they go in a different direction then they had before. Redburga had been disappointed that their previous trip only produced hawthorn. Redburga asserted that hawthorn was a good herb for heart trouble, menstrual cramps, and even stress, but nettle was for bowl trouble and someone in the village, Leola did not know who, needed it. Thus Leola was determined to retrieve a month's supply of the coveted plant.

  “Leola, are you well?” Drudi asked.

  They had gone a ways and were quite alone, so Leola began to think on the circumstance that had first made her vomit.

  “I’m fine,” Leola said, and felt she had said that far too many times of late. “But I did want to talk to you about the pit.”

  “What pit?” Drudi asked, her brow knotted in confusion.

  “The pit you found when we last went herb hunting. The one with...” but she was unsure how to say it, “with... the bodies... or heads-”

  Drudi's surprised face cut Leola's words short.

  “The pit,” Leola said again.

  “What are you talking about?” Drudi asked, bewildered.

  “The dead boys,” Leola said at last, throwing sensitivity aside.

  Drudi shook her young head. “I told you not to touch the hazel tree, Leola,” she said, as if scolding. “Now you are seeing things.”

  Leola stared at the girl for a moment, not understanding her.

  You actually do not remember seeing the pit filled with the boys’ heads?

  It was clear to her that Drudi did not recall any such event, and Leola soon decided it was unwise to press the issue.

  “You are right,” Leola said, wearily. “I had a nightmare. Come. Let us speak of other things.”

  “I heard that you know the ridend who was wounded,” Drudi said.

  “Raynar,” Leola replied in a quiet voice. “Yea. I know him. What of him?”

  “Oh, it is nothing. Only what do you think about him?”

  “I do not like him,” Leola replied, wondering where such a conversation was going.

  “Well, no worries,” Drudi said. “I do not like him either. Too pompous for me. Look!”

  Leola followed Drudi's excited finger to find a whole bush of nettle just waiting for them to harvest.

  “How glad I am we went this way,” Drudi said, as she knelt down and began to cut the branches.

  “So am I,” Leola breathed.

  For all her weary day, Leola lay wide-eyed, staring at the earthen walls of the bedroom. She heard Redburga’s gentle breathing next to her, and on the other side of her aunt, Erna mumbled something in her sleep, and Ead responded in kind though also asleep.

  Leola smiled at this. It had been over a year since she had had a family to sleep with. Her parents had been quarantined away from Holton along with the rest of the people who had been affected by the disease.

  Leola did not mind her cousins’ sounds, but she could not rest her eyes whatever she did. She was home once more,
and yet it was not her home. Her aunt was kind towards her, loved her even, but Leola still felt herself out of place, even in her mother's village.

  She pulled the blanket off and rose up off of the sleeping mats. She took two small objects out from among her folded clothes that were set just beyond where she laid her head, and went out to the living room.

  It was dark and still, but not chilly from the warm summer’s day. The fire had been long extinguished but the air felt heavy to her. She opened the shutter on the window and leaned out to see the moon rising high above her.

  I wonder where he is right now.

  She looked down at the objects in her hands, Owain’s ring, which he gave to her, and Owain’s knife, which she took without his knowledge. The ring had bantam twists in it, made to match his longsword, he had said. The knife was a smaller version of the one he showed her as she sat on his cot. She pointed to the scratches along the blade, and although she did not know how to read them, she remembered his words.

  The rowen, the oak, the alder, the hazel, the willow, the ash.

  They were his trees, he had said, the trees that protected him.

  Leola thought of what she had said to Redburga about Owain marrying many women.

  I wonder how many wives he has.

  She knew that cynings always had many wives, and Owain had said that he was the Aetheling of Glouia, meaning that someday he would be the Cyning of Glouia. If Owain did not have many wives now, he would once he became the cyning. And most importantly, Leola was sure she was not his first.

  Even though she was now positive she was carrying his child, Leola still did not regret running away. Owain had been kind to her that day, but none knew what he would be tomorrow. He was her enemy, and the few laws of the Saex people that protected women did not apply between enemies.

  No, she was glad for the decision she made, but her mind could not help but wonder. Where would she be now, if she had not run away? What would she be doing? Would she meet Owain's other wives? Would he still call her Beauty?

  I must stop thinking about him, or I shall go mad!

  Over a hundred Britannae princes were gathered in the feasting hall after the funeral, drinking and eating in a gloomy mood. The saluted a massive bronze statue made in the perfect likeness of their fallen hero.

  “To the greatest warrior,” Swale said, rising to his feet, “the greatest brother, and the greatest friend!”

  “And the greatest lover!” another prince cried.

  Britu new the truth of this, for he did not believe there was a knight’s daughter in Atrebat whom Owain had not seduced.

  “To Owain!” the men yelled, and drank.

  “To my hopes and dreams dashed to pieces,” King Irael moaned, “my only child of my only wife.”

  “Harpist!” King Gourthigern cried. “Give us your song!”

  The musician quickly took up his instrument and began to pluck the delicate strings, but King Irael groaned aloud at the melodious sound.

  “Owain played the harp as if it were the instrument of heaven,” he said.

  “Listen,” King Gourthigern said.

  The harpist added voice to the music with these words:

  He is like the Burning Rowan

  Bold in battle, eyes aflamed

  Heart of warriors, protecting clansman

  Name and deeds forever famed

  “There, Clansman,” King Gourthigern whispered to his brother-in-law. “You shall be proud of him.”

  “I have always been proud of him,” King Irael replied. “He was everything I had, everything that was left of my beautiful Elen. If only he had married and given me a grandson. Then at least my line would continue.”

  Britu held his tongue. He wished to tell them both of Owain’s marriage to the Gewissae prisoner, but Swale’s orders and fear of angering them both kept him silent.

  He is like the Enduring Oak Tree

  Stable in the turbulent wave

  Strength of heroes all agree

  Countenance stout, resolute, and brave

  Britu noticed young Annon by him, fighting back angry tears.

  “Annon, what is this?” Britu whispered. “Be calm-”

  “It was the oak that killed him!” Annon hissed through his clenched teeth. “How can he sing of the oak? I hate oaks!”

  The boy jumped up and stormed out of the hall.

  “Let him go,” Swale said to Britu, putting out a restraining hand.

  “He is nearly sixteen,” Britu grumbled. “He needs to have some self-control.”

  “This is the second teacher he has lost, Britu,” Swale said, with a sympathetic gaze. “Give him time to heal. We shall lecture him later.”

  Britu only thought of his own anguish and sought to distract himself from it by focusing his anger on external things.

  He is like the Mighty Alder

  Stalwart with sword, fierce with hand

  Princes bold before him moulder

  Valiant against the enemy band

  Now this Britu knew the truth of. He had fought alongside his cousin for four years, and had born witness to his fearlessness. There was no battle so terrible that Owain did not find a way to overcome. Even the Maetae Pictii in the bitter cold of the North Country had admired Owain.

  As Britu sat there in the great hall and listened to the music, his heart filled with sadness.

  “What is he doing here?” Swale whispered.

  Britu looked up to see Prince Cadfan, the Dumnonni champion and nephew of their bitter enemy, the dead King Tudwal.

  “He dares come here,” Britu said. “I shall kill him.”

  “Peace, Britu,” Swale replied. “Do not dishonor Owain by slaying a man at his feast.”

  Britu restrained himself, for he knew the validity of his clansman's words, yet he still seethe in his wrath as he looked on the Dumnonni, who he felt should never have that hall.

  He is like the Judicious Hazel…

  The harpist continued his song, but Britu was too consumed with watching to listen.

  After Prince Cadfan came up to King Irael to offer his condolences, Britu found the opportunity to get close to the man.

  “Do something,” he hissed in the Dumnonni's ear. “Anything at all, I beg you. Give me an excuse to run you through.”

  “I come in peace, Prince of Atrebat,” Prince Cadfan replied. “I respected the dominae as all of you did.”

  “Like a serpent.”

  Prince Cadfan gave him a formal bow of his head, and slowly made his way to the exit.

  He is like the Enchanting Willow…

  But they were more engrossed with their own matters for any more music.

  “Now what did you do?” Swale asked Britu.

  “I got rid of waste,” Britu replied.

  “But he knows now that we are both here. He shall leave and gather the Army of the Dumnonni to attack Atrebat.”

  “He won't,” Britu replied. “He is a coward. He is called the champion because he is an Isca and not because he risks himself for his men. He shall go back to Dore and hide.”

  When the song was finished, the King of Lerion, one of the Andoco, stood and raised his cup. “Here is to Owain of Baddan, the Prince of Glouia, and Champion of Albion. May his spirit find peace, and his soul be given to another life.”

  “To Owain!” and the men drank.

  “We do not need a new Owain,” Britu said, to Swale. “We need an Owain with a little self-control.”

  “Perhaps the next Owain shall have self-control,” Swale said.

  Owain stood on the river bank looking out into night sky. The silent moon rose up before him, and the light shining from it seemed to seep through his hands and fill his whole body with peace. He gripped his bare chest and felt something wet on it. Glancing down at his hands, he saw that they were covered with fresh blood. His blood. It spilled from his thin fingers and on to the ground at his feet. His chest seemed to open, letting a river of blood flow down.

  His eyes traveled f
rom red pound at his feet over to a woman who knelt at the river but a stone's toss away.

  She was as old as Owain suspected his forefather, Rheiden, would have been if he had lived. Her bright white hair fell loose and went down to her knees, and her face was so fresh and beautiful he thought he was looking on a pure crystal.

  As she bent over the river, her determined hands scrubbed at a crimson tunic. The water rinsed the whole of the garment until it was white again. The blood that had covered it ran freely down the river until it disappeared from sight.

  “The Phantom Queen,” Owain whispered.

  The old woman looked up then.

  “Your tunic,” she said.

  “Ie,” Owain said.

  There was a touch of sadness mixed into the resolve on her face.

  Chapter Twenty One: Knights and Other Dangers

  The change of weather from warm to cold brought some comfort to Leola, who had felt overwhelmed by the heat. Nearly six months had passed since her arrival in Anlofton, during which nothing but the heat and temperamental animals had bothered the village. They had very little contact with other villages, which was a relief to Leola, as she wished to hear nothing about the terrible battle of Holton and it’s now famed demise.

  “You’re growing really big,” Erna said.

  Leola had to smile at the frank comment. “Yea,” she replied. “But at least I have stopped vomiting.”

  Leola's feet were propped up on the bench in the living room and a rolled up blanket was stuffed behind her lower back. Erna sat next to her, as close as she could, as Leola braided her hair into one long tail.

  “When shall the baby come?”

  “After Yeole,” Leola replied.

  She was not entirely sure whether it would be a little after or a long time after that feast, yet she felt that her small cousin would benefit by the most definitive answer.

  “That’s a long time!” the girl replied.

  “Babies take a long time.”

  The door flew open and Ead scrambled in, tripping over her own legs and stumbling to the dirt floor. Erna jumped up, but Leola had to push herself up to rise.

  “Eeeeeeeeeeeee!” Ead screamed.

  “What is it?” Leola asked.