The Beast of Caer Baddan

by Rebecca Vaughn

  Owain strode through the lower passageway to front hall of the castle of Verulamium. He had been in the Capital of Lerion only twice before from his own memory, yet he found his way around the place with a great ease. Owain felt that most all of the castles, forts, fortresses and manor houses, built by Roman hands were designed in the same fashion, and were thus no trouble to navigate. He discovered the doors to the great hall in a heartbeat and went through.

  To Owain's surprise the room was filled with people, dignitaries from the entire kingdom, and every eye was turned on him. They were dressed in traditional tunics, leggings, and robes, not the Roman clothing that they had long become accustomed to. Their gold chains around their necks and long staffs in their hands attested to the formality of the gathering.

  Owain marveled at such an unusual sight.

  “Da,” he whispered, coming to his father's side. “Why are all these people staring at me?”

  “Our clansman, King Iorwerth, has something he wishes to say to you,” King Irael replied.

  Owain thought that “Thank you” was quite easily spoken without a huge audience, but held his tongue. He knew it was not his place to question the actions of a king and he did not wish to embarrass his father.

  “Owain ap Irael ap Mascen,” King Iorwert said in Brythonic. “Owain o Caer Baddan, Mael o Glouia.”

  Which was, “Owain son of Irael son of Mascen. Owain of the City of Baddan, Prince of Glouia.”

  “Go on, Son,” King Irael whispered.

  Owain moved forward passed the throngs of well-dressed onlookers and up to the throne where his clansman sat. King Iorwert came to his feet, and Owain saw that he held a magnificent sword in his hands.

  “This is Calybs Sword of Togadum,” King Iorwert said.

  Owain was astounded, for he knew well the stories of that mighty weapon.

  It was forged in the secret fires of the Aracon and blessed by the druids. In Togadum's capable hands, it had slayed the most powerful men on the island. It was truly the greatest sword for the greatest warrior.

  “Sixty years ago, your forefather, Rheiden King of Ewyas, Glouia, and Powys, discovered this weapon in the sacred lake,” King Iorwert said. “He left it with my grandfather for safekeeping until one worthy of it was found. That day has come. You, Prince Owain, are worthy of the Sword of Togadum.”

  He handed the weapon out to Owain.

  Owain hesitated at first, not knowing if he should even touch it. Yet under his clansman's solemn gaze, he gently lifted it up with the palms of his hands, grasped the decorative handle in his right hand, and slid it from its sheath.

  The blade glimmered in the fire light, as if it too agreed to such an arrangement.

  After nearly four hundred years, the famous sword would be wielded once more, and in Owain's hands, the island would not be disappointed.

  Chapter Thirty Two: Confrontation

  Leola soon found that Gratianna's affection for her was as possessive as it was long lasting.

  “Come up to my room,” the child said.

  She slipped her hand into Leola's and tried to pull her to her feet.

  “I can't walk up stairs, Dearest,” Leola replied. “This baby is too big now.”

  “Hm!” and the child ran out of Leola's room and disappeared down the passageway.

  “She seems to like you, Mistress,” Gytha said.

  “I am glad.”

  Leola liked Gratianna as well and did not mind her stubbornness.

  The child soon returned hugging a dark wooden box to herself. The box was not very large but in her tiny arms it looked like a monstrosity. Gytha stepped forward to take it from her, but Gratiann shook her head. She pushed the box up onto the table by Leola's side and pulled a chair up to be close to both.

  “What is it?” Leola asked.

  “My treasure chest,” Gratianna replied. “Only the very best things go in here.”

  “I see.”

  Gratianna opened up the lid with the care one would afford an ancient scroll filled with sacred text and worth a king's ransom. There were only three things inside, the wishing stone, some coarse strings, and a small knife with a handle made out of animal bone.

  “What are those?” Leola asked.

  “Harp strings,” Gratianna replied.

  “Harp what?” Leola asked, confused.

  “Strings,” the child said, and seemed confused herself that Leola did not understand. “You tie them on the harp and then puck them with your fingers.”

  “Ah.”

  Leola was surprised that such ordinary looking objects would be so important to Gratianna when the child was surrounded by so much finery.

  “Why are these treasures?” she asked.

  “Because Tada gave them to me,” Graitanna replied. “I love Tada.”

  Leola was about to ask who “Tada” was when Gytha translated this solitary Brythonic word for her.

  “Father.”

  Owain gave you these things and so they are your treasures!

  Leola's eyes filled with tears.

  “Tada is in the under-earth,” Gratanna said. “But before he died, he put these things in his treasure box for me to have. I miss him.”

  “I know you do, Dearest,” Leola replied. “We all miss him very much.”

  This was an honest statement, for Leola felt that she truly did miss him and not just because he had made her feel pretty.

  “Remember that you have your grandfather and I both,” Leola continued.

  “Grandfather,” Gratianna mumbled. “Grandfather is mean.”

  Leola was shocked. She had never seen King Irael angry or even cross, never had a reason to suspect that he had been unkind to anyone, especially to Owain's daughter. It never dawned on her that the child would think such a thing.

  “Why do you say he is mean?” Leola asked.

  “He never lets me sit next to him. He always says 'go away,'” Gratianna replied, her lower lip stuck out in a pout. “Tada never sent me away. Tada always let me sit with him. Tada would pick me up and swing me around. He always kissed me when I went to bed. He was teaching me how to play the harp and how to catch butterflies. I miss him. I wish he would not be dead.” Her huge green eyes swelled with tears.

  “Come here, Gratianna,” Leola said. “Come over here, dear.”

  Gratianna slid off of her chair and pulled herself up onto the bench next to Leola. Leola wrapped her arm around the child and rocked her back and forth.

  “There, there,” she said, and she kissed the top of the girl's head. “You have me. You will always have me.”

  But Leola promised in her heart that she would resolved whatever it was between the king and the child in her arms.

  One evening, as King Irael and Leola relaxed by the fire in the sitting room, one of the servants announced Prince Britu's arrival.

  “My nephew,” King Irael said. “You remember Britu, Leola?”

  “I do, father,” Leola replied.

  How could I forget the man who kept staring at me?

  The doors opened again, and Prince Britu entered and took the king's outstretched hand.

  “Ah, Britu, come in,” King Irael said. “God keep you.”

  “God keep you, Uncle,” Britu said. His piercing eyes found Leola's face. “God keep you, Princess.”

  She greeted him in kind and continued her sewing.

  I beg of you, do not look at me like that.

  “What news do you bring of your family?” the king asked.

  “My parents and sister are well,” Britu replied. “I have just been from Gloui and find my younger brother in good cheer. He is taking to his studies.”

  “Good,” the king said. “I think he shall make a fine scholar. And your grandfather is an excellent instructor.”

  “He is.”

  Although his words were to the king, Leola felt Britu's critical eye burning into her.

  “You have business in Glouia?” King Irael asked.

  “Truthfully, no,”
Britu replied. “My mother wishes for me to be of some assistance to you.”

  “Good Severa,” he said, with a laugh. “Always thinking of others’ comfort. Very well. Stay the month. Tuathal!”

  The steward was soon fetched and ordered to prepare a set of rooms for the king's nephew.

  “Would you like to represent me in the Circle of Lords tomorrow?” King Irael asked. “I do not feel well enough as yet to attend and have been absent from the last two.”

  “Of course,” Britu said. “I shall be honored.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Excuse me, master,” a servant said. “The Captain of the Guard has returned.”

  “Send him in.”

  “The captain traveling?” Britu said, with his eyebrows raised in surprise.

  “Not traveling. Searching for an ambush. Lord Eisu wishes me dead. Ah! Captain! Come in!”

  The Captain of the Guard entered and bowed to King Irael.

  “What have you found?” the king asked.

  “We discovered twenty Dobunni knights with Prince Inam at the crossing, King,” the captain said. “I order them to disband. They seemed very reluctant to, but Prince Inam soon realized that we were more numerous than they, and that your gracious self was not present. They dispersed, and we searched the road for any others but found none.”

  “Good,” the king replied. “Excellent. I commend you, Captain.”

  “Disband, Uncle?” Britu said, when the captain had left. “I should have arrived sooner. Then I would have ordered the Dobunni executed.”

  “Perhaps,” King Irael replied. “But that is not always politic. This sentiment shall pass, and sooner when it is without bloodshed than when men draw their swords and cry for another man's head. Every generation shall have their revenge. We gain it on them, then their children shall gain it on Owain's children, and Owain's grandchildren shall gain it on their grandchildren, and on and on, for all eternity. Do not be hasty to deliver death, for you know not how it may destroy your descendants.”

  Leola was surprised by these words. A Britisc king, who himself had been a warrior, sat there quietly discussing mercy, peace, and the avoidance of war. He had spared the Dobunni when another man might have cut the traitors into a thousand pieces.

  “But to ambush their king, Uncle,” said Britu. “Surely such a crime deserves a more harsh punishment than saying ‘Go home.’”

  “Perhaps,” King Irael replied, “but remember that I'm determined to keep the peace for the next twenty years, until my heir may take power and rule in my place.”

  “Ah,” said Britu and changed the subject. “And what if the baby is a girl and not a boy?”

  The king smiled. “Then she shall have the misfortune of having to marry one of her clansmen, and he shall rule in my place. But for Gratianna's sake, as well as for the baby's, I pray it is a boy. I do not want Gratianna to feel a distinction between herself and a legitimate daughter, and unfortunately a distinction would be made.”

  Leola could see the tenderness for his granddaughter in the king's green eyes.

  I do not believe you ever meant to be cruel to the child. I wonder why she should think that.

  The two men talked on about politics, and although Leola could understand most of the Latin words the names of people and circumstances they were in were too confusing for her tired ears. Moreover, Britu's watchful eye was becoming so intolerable that with another moment in his presence, she would have screamed aloud.

  Leola soon excused herself to go to bed.

  Once in the sanctuary of her outer room, Leola set her sewing aside and lowered herself onto the cushioned bench.

  “Tired, Mistress?” Gytha asked, pouring a cup of water.

  “Yea, very,” Leola replied.

  She took the offered drink and sipped it until it was all consumed.

  How can I be hot and cold all at once?

  Leola touched her forehead and thought it was a normal temperature. She then listened to her heart, but heard nothing amiss. The baby kicked and moved about within her, yet now, she was too weary to even smile at it.

  “I feel as though I have scrubbed clothes all day,” she said, “and the only thing I have done is a bit of green thread.”

  “Surely the baby shall come very soon, Mistress,” Gytha replied.

  “No, no,” she said. “Another month at least.”

  Although Leola had lost track of the Saxon months, she was positive that the Feast of Yeole had not yet arrived. She also guessed that she had been in the castle at Baddan for about six weeks, which would leave another six weeks before her labor.

  Deep in her heart, Leola began to fear.

  The next day came, and Britu set about his preparations for a journey to Caer Corin Capital of Glouia. He queried the steward for information on the current political issues in that city, and then went to take his leave of his uncle.

  Leola was alone in the sitting room finishing her sewing, when she heard the door swing open and hard boot steps enter the room. She did not have to look up to know that it was Britu.

  Go to Corin and be far away from me.

  Her sensitive ears caught his mumbled Latin words.

  “I am looking for King Irael,” he said, as if expecting no response.

  “He has gone outside to the garden for some fresh air,” Leola replied.

  She glanced up at him to see his eyes bulged out as if free from his shocked face.

  “You speak Latin,” he said, as if in disbelief. “I mean, beyond the greetings. You actually know the language.”

  Leola raised her eyebrows. She had become far too irritated with him to care that he was a prince and an Andoco.

  “And so do you,” she said, her voice swelling with disdain.

  How dare he glare at her, judge her, think that because he was a Britisc and she a Gewissae, he was better than her? Real superiority was not found in those who paraded themselves around like overfed, constipated boars.

  “You disapprove of me,” he said, as if he meant to say “How could someone like you possibly look down on someone like me?”

  “As you do me,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked, not seeming to hear her last words.

  Leola frowned in thought.

  “Why do you enjoy killing?” she asked.

  Britu appeared genuinely surprised by the question, and Leola had a mental laugh at his expense.

  “I do not enjoy it,” he said, his words running out too quickly to be controlled. “It is necessary.”

  Leola did not believe he looked into his own heart when he spoke. He might think he does not like to kill, but the truth was there.

  “You would slaughter these Dobunni people in an instant,” her voice dripping with contempt. “And yet you say you do not enjoy killing.”

  “La!” he cried. “You do not think of the Dobunni. Your mind is set on the Gewissae.”

  Leola was actually amused by these words. “Gewissae or Dobunni does not matter. You relish in bloodshed. It is of little relevance who the people are whose lives you take.”

  By the shame on his face, she saw the truth of her words.

  “The Gewissae deserved what they got,” Britu said, as if to muster some last defense.

  “The women of Holton deserved to be sold as slaves?” Leola asked. “The boys of Anlofton deserved to be murdered? For what? What did they do to you? I only remember one woman raising a spear against the Britannae and she is dead. What did the rest do?”

  “Neither Hol nor Anlof suffered the fate of Donwy,” Britu said, ignoring her questions.

  What of Donwy?

  She did not have to ask aloud, for even as her thoughts formed the question, his lips gave her a reply.

  “The Gewissae marched on that town seven years ago,” he said, “and nothing was left of it but ruin. Old people, priests, women, and every little child, all butchered like some bloody sacrifice. Their naked bodies hacked into pieces and spread out on the field. Everywhere there gath
ered pools of blood. And the stench from a week of rotting was enough to drive any man mad. The only survivors were eight young girls who were taken to the Town of Hol. By the time the General caught up to them, all of them had been raped and five of them were dead. Now I ask you, what right do the Gewissae have to do that to the Atrebatae people?”

  For a moment Leola was silent, too shocked to answer.

  She knew of Holton’s victory over Donwy, but had never heard the Britisc’s side of the story. Now, she saw in Britu’s eyes that his words were honest.

  Britu set his lips in satisfied disdain and turned to leave the room.

  “Then you have had your revenge,” Leola replied. “This was the work of the Earlmann of Hol. Not of Tiw or Anlof or any other town. Only of Sigbert Earlmann of Hol, and he is now dead.”

  “I know he is dead,” Britu said.

  “Then why continue to punish the Gewissae people for what he did? Why continue to punish every people you are in conflict with for what a dead man did? You have your revenge already. Be at peace.”

  Leola saw Britu's anger in his burning eyes, before he spun on his heels and stomped out.

  Chapter Thirty Three: Contemplation

  The gentle rain began to fall, rapping against the wooden shutters that covered the windows. Leola hardly paid it any heed, for her mind was now far too consumed with Britu's angry words for her to do anything at all.

  She thought of how Sigbert Earlmann had shown so much kindness towards her family. He had paid her father’s court debt and allowed him to repay it in installments over many months.

  He could have seized my parents’ land, especially when they died, but he did not. He let me work in the mead hall to finish repaying him.

  He had been a good and benevolent ruler to the people of Holton and a loving father to young Ardith. Leola did not know if an injury, real or imagined, had produced such a response on the sorry town of Donwy.

  I shall not judge Sigbert Earlmann for what he did.

  But she knew in her heart that that meant she could not judge Britu either.

  Seven years ago would make the prince about fifteen, perhaps a warrior in the army yet still a very young impressionable boy. His account of Donwy was too personal to believe he had gained the story from another. Leola knew that he must have been among the discoverers of the destruction.