“I did, Nephew,” the bishop replied. “No rain. I hear there are two new Owains.”
“There are,” King Irael replied. “Leola?”
Queen Madge stepped forwards and took Ambrosius from Leola's arms and then indicated her to the nurse who held Euginius.
I don’t understand! What am I supposed to do?
“Take Euginius and hand him to Father Vitalius,” King Irael whispered.
Leola took Euginius from the nurse and followed the bishop to the front of the church, where the bishop’s students were standing. There on a table was set a large wide basin filled with water.
“What is his name?” the bishop asked.
“Euginius Aurelianus,” Leola replied, a little proudly.
“Euginius Aurelianus,” said the bishop, taking the baby from her arms.
He washed him in the basin and said a blessing over him. Then he wrapped him in a towel and returned him to Leola’s arms.
Although the water was warm, Euginius was unhappy with the procedure and gave a loud protest against it. Leola, anguished to see her child weep, quickly dried him off and brought him back to his nurse.
“Now Ambrosius,” King Irael whispered to her.
When Leola returned to Queen Madge to get the baby, she noticed the woman's right hand. There, where her two smallest fingers should have been, were nothing but little stubs.
Your fingers have been cut off!
Leola stared at the queen in surprise as the truth of the woman's story revealed itself.
You are the Lady of Gore who fought the Basilisk!
She felt a kind of kinship between herself and the queen. Leola had stabbed the villain Raynar and killed a Britannae knight. Queen Madge had fought guards and knights and endured torture.
I am glad I have a friend who can understand.
Queen Madge laid Ambrosius in Leola's arms, and Leola returned to the waiting bishop, who then did the same for him as he had for the first child.
Ambrosius did not wail from it, but instead let out a high pitched whimper, as if too sick and weak give a thorough protest.
Leola’s heart panged for him.
Once we are home, he shall be well again.
When their party had returned to the castle, Leola excused herself and took the babies back to her rooms.
“I'm very tired, Father,” she said to King Irael. “Please. I need to go to sleep.”
“Of course you are,” he replied, sympathetically. “Rest. I shall have the servants bring you in some dinner.”
King Irael returned to the hall and told the others that Leola would not be joining them.
“A silly notion brother,” Queen Severa replied. “Of course she is tired. That does not excuse her from her duty.”
“Little Sister,” King Irael said gently, “she has had enough duties for one day and shall have many more when the Solstice feast comes. We shall eat now and let her rest.”
He saw by her frown that she was upset over his decision, and was glad when Queen Madge stepped in to assist him.
“It is not as though you have much to talk to her about, Queen Severa,” she said. “Come tell me all about your little Scothnoe. I heard she was placed on the list for warrioress companion.”
The meal was brought and three kings and two queens ate and talked.
“I'm so proud of Scothnoe,” Queen Severa said to Queen Madge. “She wanted the position so much that she actually learned to drive chariot. I do not know if she shall ever sit in the Circle but it is a great pleasure to see that she set her mind to mastering her skills.”
“I'm certain that she shall be Warrioress of Atrebat one day,” King Emrys replied.
“First she must be made warrioress companion,” said King Gourthigern. “And that is the real gamble.”
“That cannot be long,” King Irael said. “Half of the girls on the list will be married before the Solstice feast. That happens every year.”
“Does Lady Scothnoe have any lovers?” Queen Madge asked.
“Certainly not,” King Gourthigern replied.
As the conversation continued from one topic to another, King Irael could hardly follow. His chest ached and his jaw seemed to grow tense and constrained.
“Aurelius!” came his sister's frantic voice. “You are ill?”
“It is nothing,” King Irael replied. “Nothing at all. What were you saying?”
Queen Severa shook her head at him. “You really must take better care of yourself, Brother,” she said.
“I am. I am. I assure you.”
But the pressure in his chest would not disappear.
Chapter Thirty Eight: Healing
Owain had always been in movement and to be now sedentary was a pleasant change, yet his thirst for an answer would not allow him to be distracted by his peaceful surroundings.
He removed his battered armor and damaged clothes, and washed the filth off of his tired body. To his utter disgust he found that he was covered in his own urine, sweat, and vomit. His clothing and hair were matted with hard dry mud. The left side of his face was covered in a curly beard while the right side seemed hard and rough, as if it were a slice of old cooked meat.
He was surprised to find that there was an odd puncture wound with blackened skin around it on his right hand and a strange purple-colored hue on his chest, as if they had been burned from underneath his skin. The rest of his body seemed unaltered from before, and he looked over his old scars with a whimsical remembrance.
“But where did I get these?" he said to himself, staring again at his right hand.
His mind was clouded and confused.
“I must have hit my head on something very hard,” he said.
The dirty water proved an inefficient bath and even less valuable mirror, but Owain was grateful for any little cleanse no matter how counterproductive it may have seemed.
The next day brought a worsened condition for Ambrosius. The baby refused to nurse with Leola, and even when a nursemaid was brought in, he would not take any milk. His skin became patchy and dry, and the yellow hue which covered his face now traveled to the rest of his tiny body.
Leola thought over and over what her aunt Redburga would do in such a situation.
“Shall I send for the healer, Princess?” the steward asked.
“No,” Leola replied. “Set up a bonfire.”
“A bonfire, Princess?”
“A bonfire. It is cold outside, but Ambrosius needs the sun. Set up a bonfire to keep him warm.”
“As you wish,” and the steward was gone with the order.
Leola laid Ambrosius against her breast and shoulder and went outside.
The crisp morning air blew through her hair and chilled her face, as she walked across the courtyard. The servants hastened to assemble the necessary fuel and light the blaze. Leola stopped a short distance away, close enough to be warm and far enough to be out of reach of the flying ashes.
God, please let this heal him.
Leola unwrapped the blanket so that Ambrosius’ back was bare. Then she closed her eyes and faced the rising sun, so that the low light of the autumn’s day touched the baby’s back.
Let the sun heal him.
“I'm in Gododdin,” Owain said, trying to organize his thoughts.
His stiff body and ailing back made it hard to concentrate on a hazy memory.
“I'm aiding King Coel against the Maetae Pictii.”
He rubbed his head and face as if to correct that statement. He did not know what land he was in, but he was certain that it was not the North Country.
“I went to Gododdin to aid King Coel,” he said, his voice marked with determination. “Britu, Swale, and I fought alongside the Brigantae in three battles. We won a decisive victory and devastated the Pictii camp just beyond the ruins of the small wall. King Coel held a feast in our honor, and Annon danced.”
Somehow, he knew that these memories must have been from many months before and not from the immediate past. His sense o
f time and perception had been altered.
As he felt up the back of his head, he found it sore and tender. He must have hit his head, or perhaps just laying down for a long time had made it sensitive. His back as well was stiff and pained, but perhaps that as well was from the crude bed rather than an actual injury.
He thought of King Coel's daughter, Lady Gwawl, how they met, and how the king forbade her to see him.
“He sent her to her uncle's in Venedotia.”
He remembered fighting the Angle champion in Ebrauc and the journey south to the Kingdom of Lerion.
“We received word from my uncle King Gourthigern of a rebellion. The Gewissae. The Gewissae were planning a rebellion.”
He knew they had traveled further south to Atrebat and greeted the king.
“We decided to destroy the Gewissae village of Hol. We traveled there and attacked before the fourth watch.”
The earlmenn's executions and also the boy, a Gewissae aetheling, who Owain had spared, came to his mind.
He remembered his dream of the woman washing his tunic and how he was to die in battle the next day. He thought on his one regret, that he had no heir for his father.
Then like a wave of clarity, Leola's face was before him.
“I must get to Baddan.”
Every morning, Leola took Ambrosius out to the courtyard to sun his tiny back. At first she noticed no improvement in his condition. But soon, he came more to demand to be nursed than to refuse, his quiet high pitched whimper turned into the boisterous wail of a healthy child, and his color turned from yellow to white as snow.
After nearly two weeks of sun, Ambrosius was almost as strong as his brother, and Leola breathed a deep sigh of relief.
“What is going on, Father?” Leola asked.
She looked around the great hall at the servants moving furniture and piling up wood for the fireplaces.
“The Lords of Glouia shall be here tomorrow night,” King Irael replied.
Leola shook her head, trying to clear it. She had been so concerned for Ambrosius' condition that she forgot about the upcoming feast.
“All of the lords?” she asked.
“And I shall introduce them to you,” the king replied, with a nod of the head. “But you do not need to remember their names.”
Leola thought about the Dobunni ruler she had overheard plotting to murder King Irael. She was not sure what she would do if he came to the castle.
“Leola?” the king said.
“Lord Eisu,” she replied, returning to the conversation. “Will he be attending?”
“If he doesn't then it shall be seen as treason, again,” King Irael replied, and seemed amused at the thought. “He shall come with his wife Queen Deire, who is a very sweet young woman. But do not worry about them. You shall only need to greet them.”
“You are not concerned about Lord Eisu?” Leola asked. “He did try to kill you.”
“That was not the first time he has attempted that,” King Irael said, his brow knotted in a deep frown.
Leola started in surprise.
“Not the first time!” she cried. “You mean he tried to murder you before?”
“Not murder, no,” the king replied. “But kill. He supported Ci... he supported an upstart some seventeen years ago. They waged war on me, but I beat them in battle and captured Eisu who was Prince of the Dobunni at that time.”
Leola wondered at the lord then, that he should have dared such a feat, but then perhaps this latest villainy was as much his younger brother Prince Inam's doing as his own. Two men often risk things that one would never do on his own. Thus Leola was unsure of what her opinion of the lord should be and decided against further speculation.
“What happened to the upstart?” she asked.
For a moment, the king was silent, and Leola thought she saw the blood drain out of his pale face.
“He was killed,” he said, at last, and his voice turned to a hoarse whisper. “He was slain in a field outside of Caer Corin. Do not think of him.”
He took Leola by the hand and directed her around the busy room.
“Think on the festivities,” his green eyes brightening. “Everyone in Glouia has heard of the births. You are their princess and the mother of their future king. Tonight, they shall finally meet you.”
Leola was not sure if she would have the fortitude to get through the evening, but the king seemed to understand her fears.
“I shall be by your side the entire time, Leola,” he said.
I am glad.
Owain was certain of two things.
As his friends and family had not yet found him, he would never be discovered by them. They must believe him dead already, and as Owain was sure that he had been dead, he did not blame them.
He also knew that he could not return to them with such an excruciating pain in his back. He no longer cared how it had been injured, whether from his lowly bed of many months past or from falling on to some hard object. He only wished to relieve some of the agony so that he could make his way home.
A solitary tree branch was his only option.
Owain took hold of it with both hands and put his feet forward, hanging from it. As he tried to force his lower body down away from his shoulder blades, he felt the muscles in his back tighten, sending violent spasms up and down his spine.
“Ugh!” he cried.
But Owain was a warrior and would not be undone by anything, even his own battered self.
He set his jaw and pulled with all his might, and though his being filled with pain, he did not stop until his back bone was set aright.
Chapter Thirty Nine: From the Under-Earth
“I must leave, good sir,” Owain said to the hermit.
He was sure he had only been up and about for under three weeks but felt that if he stayed with the solitary man, he should go insane.
Owain had come to realize that the spring had long ago changed to summer and then to autumn and that even now it was becoming winter. Perhaps that was what the hermit meant when he had said that it was cold and then hot and now cold again. Owain was not sure but thought it wise not to inquire it of his host.
“You shall go home to your mother and father, I think,” the hermit said, with an understanding nod.
These words were casual enough but struck hard in Owain’s heart.
He could see his mother's eyes staring up at the sky and the blood pooled around her butchered body. She had given up herself for him, her son, but she should never have had to. He felt that it was he who should have protected her.
Even as a young boy, Owain was trained to do battle. Pain was viewed as something to ignore, and he was taught to press on in spite of physical injury. He had learned to fight with a host of different weaponry including his shins, elbows, and bare hands. He had seen men deprived of their heads for some crime many times and knew that his duty was war for his family, his clan, and his people. For that was the way of things.
His mother was nothing like that.
She had never harmed another person, ordered an execution, or been trained for war. She gave money to people to build churches and orphanages, and sewed new clothing for the poor children of Baddan. She was not a killer, but a saint, for that was her world.
His mother had always carried a knife as women often do, yet not once did she use it until that horrible day.
Owain knew that he alone could have prevented her death. If only he had willed his feet forward and his right arm to swing, he would have taken the traitor's head off.
With a stinging sadness, Owain realized with that the summer had indeed passed, and with that season had gone both his twenty sixth birthday as well as the seventeenth anniversary of her death.
“I'm going home to my father and daughter,” he said to the hermit.
It came to Owain that he would also be going home to Leola, for he was certain that Swale would have sent her to his father in Baddan. The idea of going home to a wife was strange and foreign to Owain, and
he had to force the thought from his mind.
“Can you tell me if there is a road somewhere about?” Owain said, aloud.
“No road. No road,” the hermit replied, sadly as if he pitied him. “Only my humble house, I think.”
For all Owain's patience, he could not gain any other answer from his unusual host.
“Well then,” he said, with a determined smile, “I shall follow the sun, the moon, and the stars. I thank you for your hospitality and hope that someday I may be of service to you.”
“I need nothing, need nothing,” the hermit replied. “But I thank you, thank you. You are a good man, I think.”
With that, Owain gave the man a regal bow, threw his tattered wool brat over his shoulder, and strode off into the forest.
Owain knew by the sun's southerly travel that he should put his back to it for a northward journey. The Dumnonni and the Gewissae both lived in the south compared to his father's kingdom, Glouia. The Dobunni people lay in the southernmost part of Glouia, but the Three Cities, the pillars of the Island of Albion, lay further to the north of that kingdom. Owain guessed that he had more than fifteen miles to traverse before reaching Caer Baddan. This was the southern most of the Three Cities and his home.
His heart swelled with anguish as he marched on north towards his goal.
“I am Owain ap Irael, Prince of Glouia, an Andoco of the house of Rheiden,” he said aloud, and the words gave him strength.
It was hours before Owain found a solitary dirt path and chose its northwestern direction. His legs and feet began to ache, and the pain throughout his back was ever present. His worn linen tunic and leggings proved insufficient protection against the cold day.
His eyes brightened with hope and reassurance as the forest opened before him to reveal a snug little village.
The people were about their business tending fires and penning up animals for the night.
Owain was conscious of his own weakened form and thought it best not to let the people know that he was a prince. His wool brat, although originally of six different colors, was now so tattered, worn, and dirty that he knew none could make any distinction from it. His costly armor he had already cast aside, but the shining gold chain that hung around his neck would give his identity away. This, he slipped within the collar of his tunic, out of view.
The Beast of Caer Baddan Page 27
