The Beast of Caer Baddan

by Rebecca Vaughn

  The woman at the gate, too frightened to utter a sound, simply pointed to the hut across the way.

  Britu waited on his war pony, as Prince Iestyn dismounted and pounded on the door frame. A young woman stepped out from the far side of the hut. Her blond hair was braided in two long tails that came down to her waist, and her blue eyes were fixed on Prince Iestyn. Britu realized at a glance that she would soon give birth.

  “Oh!” Prince Iestyn cried noticing her. “There she is, Prince!”

  Britu watched the woman with a keen steady eye. He saw her surprise and suspicion, but no fear crossed her face.

  “Who are you?” Prince Britu asked, and Prince Iestyn translated.

  “Leola daughter of Hobern,” she replied.

  He was sure then that she was the woman who Owain had taken out of the Saxon great hall some six months before.

  Britu cleared his throat. “You claim to be the wife of a Briannae prince?” he asked.

  “I am,” Leola said. “I am the wife of Owain son of Irael Prince of Glouia.”

  “Where did you marry?”

  “Are you an Andoco as well?” Leola asked. “Your armor is alike to his.”

  “I am," Prince Britu replied, irritated that this commoner should interrupt his questioning. He was a prince. She was nothing at all.

  “I remember you,” she said, “you are Owain’s clansman who argued with him in his tent. You were angry with him.”

  Britu was both surprised and annoyed at these words. He did not want to be reminded of the maddened words he spoke to Owain the morning of his death. Britu wished he could take it all away, so that it had never happened, but he could not.

  “Answer my question, stupid girl,” he said. “Where did you marry?”

  “I met the prince in Holton,” Leola replied. “He married me there in his tent in the center of the camp by binding our hands together and saying strange words over them.”

  “Are you the prisoner he took out of the mead hall?” Prince Britu said.

  “I am.”

  “And that is his child you carry?”

  “Yea.”

  Britu gazed into her eyes, searching for something, anything to prove that she was lying to him. But her face revealed her honesty, and he was forced to accept it.

  “I am taking you to his aunt and uncle,” he said.

  “I cannot go,” Leola replied. “This child is grown too big.”

  “Impertinent girl, you think you have an answer for everything. I have brought a carriage. It is waiting for you at the entrance to the village and it shall take you to Prince Owain's uncle and clansman, the King of Atrebat in Venta the Capital of Atrebat. You are coming now. For you do not want to see my wrath.”

  Britu had never thought of razing the defenseless village. But his patience was worn so thin, he could kill anything.

  Leola seemed at a loss for words, and Britu felt the unique satisfaction of silencing someone. He saw that she understood his thoughts and only nodded her head in submission. She would come without a fight.

  Of all the dreams her imagination conjured up, Leola had not thought of this situation.

  Britu Aetheling, who had argued with Owain and told him he could not have Leola, was the one to come and get her. Leola doubted greatly that Owain had sent him there, but perhaps Owain was off somewhere far away, and still did not know where she was. If Britu would take her to Owain's uncle and aunt, they must at some point tell Owain where she was. She would see him again, and she did not know what she should feel about it.

  Leola had run away from the camp, the guards and servants, and the destruction. Yet above all else, she had escaped from him.

  Should she now be glad she was returning to him? Would he be pleased to have her back? Furious that she had left?

  He had not been angry when she tried to stab him, but he had been completely in control of the situation then. Her flight had altered that relationship, and her dreadful experience with Raynar had taught her that some men do not like to be crossed.

  I must focus on the matter at hand.

  Leola knew, by the white faces and stifled gasps, that Britu had frightened the village women beyond anything that she could ever repair. She was also sure that her aunt and cousins were terrified as well, and she did not wish to bring them any more distress. She would have to go with Britu immediately.

  Leola thought quickly through everything that she must bring with her. She was dressed, and her hair was braided. The only things she needed were Owain's ring and knife, both of which she had on her, tucked into her apron string.

  There was but one thing she must do before she left.

  Leola walked inside and addressed her aunt.

  “This is farewell, Redburga,” she said.

  “Farewell, Leola,” Redburga replied, her eyes teary.

  Leola wrapped her arms around her aunt and then her weeping cousins.

  “Do you have to go?” they cried.

  “Yea,” Leola replied. “I must. Perhaps I shall return some day.”

  But she doubted greatly that she ever could.

  They clung to her until their mother pulled them off, and Leola felt her heart ripping with them. She did not understand the torment within herself. This was not home to her, yet she still did not want to leave them. They were what she knew and everything she had. Her family. Her people. Her culture.

  Leola did not know this faraway place of Venta, or the aunt and uncle of Owain's, or anything else about the thoughts or habits of the Britisc people. She did not want to find out.

  But if Leola tarried, she felt sure that Britu would actually hurt someone.

  Without another word, she forced herself away from them and slowly walked out the door to her fate.

  Chapter Twenty Four: How an Aetheling Lives

  Leola felt the women's eyes on her, although she did not look around at them. She knew that they would be horrified, angry, and scared, and much of that would be directed at her.

  I'll not have you think less of me, think me ashamed of my words.

  So she walked with her head up and as calm an expression as she could muster and followed Prince Iestyn towards the open road.

  The carriage sat there, waiting for her, like a small wooden prison. A bald servant stood at its rear and opened a small door for her. She stared back at him in surprise.

  How many slaves do these Britisc have?

  With such a growing belly, the step proved too high for Leola, and Prince Iestyn took her by the arm to help her in.

  Inside there were pillows and cushions as if to make a box comfortable. Two windows on either side gave her a continuous view of the landscape.

  What a strange way to travel.

  She heard the carriage driver yell to the ponies to go. The whole box shook around her, knocking her off balance onto the pillows.

  Until that moment, Leola had hardly believed any of it to be true, thinking it some strange nightmare from which she would soon wake.

  This is really happening! I’m being taken to Atrebat!

  She curled up on the cushions and buried her head in her arms.

  Most of the day passed by before the trees and fields gave way to round houses and stone walls. Leola peered out of the carriage to see the bustling market of a large city.

  Venta Capital of Atrebat.

  This was the city that the earlmenn had plotted for destruction. Now, as Holton lay battered and broken, Venta continued on with its business, as if the Gewissae’s plan and even the whole war had never happened.

  How strange and frightening this is. As if Gewisland had never had the chance to dominate.

  The carriage passed through another gate and stopped before some stone steps of a large house. The carriage door opened, and the servants helped Leola out and led up the steps into the front hall. She glanced about at the carvings, the bright wool curtains, and curved arches.

  So this is how an aetheling lives.

  She marveled at it in her heart, bu
t would not let them see her awe.

  Britu spoke a few words to some servant women, and they hastened Leola down one of the passageways and out to a long covered patio.

  At the end of the walkway there was another smaller stone building with a tall arch over the entrance. Leola followed the servant women's beckoning and stepped in.

  It was not a house but a single large room with four enormous fireplaces that blazed bright, lighting up the building. The tile floor beneath her feet was smooth and polished, and there in the center of the space was what looked to be a man-made pond. Leola had never seen anything like it. It was as if a hole had been dug out of the ground, and the tile all across the floor extended down into it.

  Leola took a deep cleansing breath of lavender and raspberry leaves. They were herbs used for medicines that both her mother and her aunt had made, so their scent, pleasant and relaxing, was all the more enjoyable for her.

  To Leola's surprise, the servant women took each article of clothing off her, the apron, stiff bodice which no longer closed properly at the front for her growing belly, and loose brown dress. She set the knife and ring aside, as they beckoned her into the warm water. Leola went to the edge of the pool and found that the scent was coming from the pool itself.

  Water that smells like lavender!

  The steps were not low, and with each hand resting on an arm of one of the servant women, Leola managed to descend into the warm bath.

  The servant women took large sponges, rubbed soap and water on them, and bathed her whole body. Leola was shocked, for she had not been washed by another person since she had been six years old and her mother scrubbed her back.

  When the servant women were done washing her, they rubbed cream on her body and shaved the hair off. Leola thought this was strange, but was only grateful that they did not remove her eyebrows or the long hair on her head.

  Is this how it shall be?

  Another servant woman entered with clothing, and they fitted Leola with a long thin white dress and a second thicker white dress that went over it. Although the loose fabric felt comfortable around her body, both garments were too long, requiring the servant women to hem them up so that Leola would not trip.

  Leola rubbed her hands along the smooth material and marveled at its purity.

  It is so fine and beautiful. Is this how all of Owain's wives dress?

  She wondered where he was and if he would come there to Venta to get her. She knew that Glouia was on the far western side of Gewisland, and if he was there, it must take him at least another day to travel here to Atrebat, even on horseback.

  It was the waiting that made her anxious.

  The servant women led Leola back into the main house to the front hall. She let out a horrified gasp as they went up the broad staircase and motioned her to follow. Leola felt that it was quite a long distance and would not, nor could not, go at any rapid speed. Her stomach was no longer turning from the carriage ride, but Leola had never had to climb so many stairs before.

  At the first step up, she felt a protesting kick.

  My baby!

  The kick came again on the other side, and Leola wrapped both arms around herself as if to guard it.

  The servants chattered at her what she assumed was a beckoning to go with them, yet each new step she took was followed by a long arduous pause.

  I hope there aren't many more of these steps.

  “Britu!” Swale cried.

  Britu shook his head, leaving his thoughts, to see Swale stride into the great hall towards him.

  “Did you find her?” Swale asked. “Is she really pregnant?”

  “I did, and she is,” Britu said. “Where is my father?”

  “In the sitting room with King Emrys and your mother. They have been asking for you this very hour.”

  “An audience I could well avoid.”

  Britu sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He had managed to avoid his parents the entire evening before, but eventually he must face their wrath.

  “Come then,” he said.

  They went into the sitting room and found King Gourthigern and Queen Severa with another man. The stranger had long black hair streaked with gray, and was dressed in the colorful robes of a king. Britu assumed he must be King Emrys, and saw at once the resemblance that Annon had to his father.

  “Father, Mother,” Britu said, and he caught the fierce disapproval of his mother's expression.

  “King Emrys,” King Gourthigern said, “you remember my elder son, Britu.”

  “Of course,” King Emrys replied, rising to greet him. “God keep you, Prince.”

  Britu did not recall ever meeting the king but did not say so.

  “God keep you, King Emrys,” he replied, with a respectful bow of the head.

  “This is strange news that brings us together,” King Gourthigern said, his stern voice cutting deep into Britu's heart. “You have found this woman, this Gewissae?”

  “I have, Father,” Britu replied. He forced himself to keep his composure.

  “Prince Swale has already written to our clansman,” King Gourthigern said.

  “I have,” Swale said. “The messenger rode out early this morning. We should hear from King Irael tomorrow evening.”

  “And you, King,” Britu said, to King Emrys, as a distraction from his parents' scowls. “What brings you to Venta?”

  “I sent for King Emrys,” King Gourthigern said, as if angry that Britu should dare question his actions.

  Britu was infuriated that such a sensitive situation should be made known to someone outside their clan. He knew that King Emrys was a good friend to King Irael, but the man was not an Andoco and therefore should not have been informed.

  In spite of his strong opinions, Britu held himself in check. He would not lose his temper at his father, who would only use such an outburst against him.

  “I plan to take this woman back to Pengwern with me,” King Emrys said to Britu. “My wife is willing to look after her, and Pengwern will be a much quieter place for her to stay out of the critical eyes of the kings.”

  “I am sure King Aurelius will approve,” King Gourthigern replied, “but until he does, she must remain here.”

  “Of course,” King Emrys said.

  “Do you suppose that King Irael will recognize the marriage and declare the child his heir?” Swale asked.

  Britu thought that the question was silly, given the circumstances of the woman's position.

  “He has no heir,” King Gourthigern replied. “It is possible that he might, especially if it is a boy.”

  “She is a barbarian and a pagan,” Britu said.

  “Our fathers were all pagans, Britu,” King Emrys said, with an easy smile.

  Britu did not wish to argue, but his words found themselves before he could stop them.

  “But this woman is a slave,” he said. “A prisoner from the village of Hol.”

  “It is King Irael's choice,” Swale said, in haste. “We cannot assume what only he can dictate.”

  Queen Severa rose and excused herself and went out to the front hall. Britu followed her.

  “Mother,” he said.

  “My son,” she said, but she would not turn around to look on him.

  He saw her exhales in her slender back and knew that she too was fighting for control.

  “You are angry with me,” he said, his voice revealing the torment of his soul.

  “You have disrespected your uncle by keeping your cousin's marriage a secret from him,” she replied.

  “I was not in command, Mother,” he said, at once. “It was not my place to act.”

  “He is your uncle, my brother, and his son dead, and you keep this from him? Clearly Owain wished to provide an heir for his father in place of himself. Even if Aurelius does not recognize the marriage, it is still his decision, and not yours to make.”

  “I was not in command,” Britu said, his voice growing frantic. “I was given order and obeyed. If I was in command, I wo
uld have sent Owain's journal to my uncle immediately so that he could read it for himself. I was not. It was not my order.”

  “Very well, Britu,” the queen replied, with an understanding although unsympathetic nod. “I must see to her, this Leola.”

  She went up the stairs, leaving Britu more wretched then before.

  Leola sat at a small table while the servant women combed out her long hair and twisted it in to some strange pile in the back of her head. There was nothing for Leola to do but stare ahead at the silver mirror which hung from the wall. It was the first true likeness that she had ever seen of herself, for she had not paid any attention to the mirror hanging in Owain’s tent. The reflection she saw before her, indeed, the very thought of a reflection, fascinated her. She touched her cheeks and hair, and smiled at it.

  “Mistress?” one of the servant women said in Saxon.

  “Yea,” she replied, surprised at the title given to her.

  What I called Ardith for so many months!

  “I am Gytha,” the servant said.

  “Gytha?” Leola said, in relief. “You are Gewissae.”

  “Yea, Mistress,” Gytha replied. “I am told I shall stay with you and translate the Britisc words for you.”

  Leola smiled brightly, as her body filled with ease.

  Until then, none of the servants had been able to actually communicate with her, for they conversed in Brythonic, which she neither spoke nor understood. To see a Gewissae, one of her own people, and speak in her own language was a great comfort.

  “I am sure I shall need that,” Leola said. “I never seem to know what is going on.”

  “It is very different here than in Gewisland,” Gytha said. “But it is not too hard to get used to.”

  The doors opened, and the servant women moved aside and bowed to the woman who entered.

  Leola marveled, for the stranger was both the tallest and skinniest woman she had ever seen.

  “I am Severa Queen of Atrebat, Prince Owain's aunt,” the woman said in Brythonic.

  Gytha quickly translated the words into Saxon.