The Beast of Caer Baddan

by Rebecca Vaughn

  Leola giggled as the baby clung to her breast.

  Owain stepped forward and slipped his right arm around the man's slender neck and secured it in the crook of his left. The stranger raised his knife to strike Owain's exposed arm, but Owain's left hand pushed hard forward on the back of the man's head. A loud snap, like the breaking of a tree branch, filled the sitting room. The stranger sank to the floor, dead, and his murderous weapon dropped beside him.

  Leola gasped and whimpered as she looked on the body of the assassin, perhaps realizing that both she and the infant had been very close to death. Her eyes traveled up to Owain's, and he felt that he could see the full of her heart within them.

  It was afraid, saddened, and horrified.

  Owain turned his back on her in an instant and strode out to the front hall.

  “There is a dead body in in the sitting room,” he said to one of the servants there. “A Dobunni, I suspect, from the color of his hair. Get rid of him.”

  Owain did not wait to see that it was done, but went back upstairs and shut himself up in his rooms.

  Leola dropped onto one of the cushioned benches and gasped for air. Her left hand cradled the fussy baby in her arms. Her right was still behind her, trying to grasp at an apron knot that was not there.

  Leola had considered stabbing that strange Britannae, Prince Cadfan, who had come into Holton to speak with the earlmann. She had wounded Raynar, the ridend, when he tried to strangle her at the creek. She had even attempted to kill Owain, after he had her wash at that same creek. Then there was the Britannae knight, Sir Catocus, who had come into Anlofton, with whom Leola had finally succeeded in ending a life.

  But now, in the comforts of her home, surrounded by servants, guards, and a massive wall, it had never occurred to her to be cautious. She was caught completely unaware, and both she and her youngest child could have died.

  The knife, Owain's knife, which she had taken from his tent, was peacefully set under her pillow in her bed.

  I shall keep it with me forever.

  The guards entered the sitting room, bowed to her, and hauled the dead assassin away. Leola did not give them any notice but felt a relief when the body was gone. The images of death filled her mind until she was sick.

  I shall not dwell on those! I shall be at peace!

  As her wild heart slowed its pace to resume a normal speed, she thought how very fortunate she was that Owain was both alive and home.

  If only he would believe it his good fortune that I am his wife.

  Her saddened heart told her he never would.

  Owain had married her in haste because he believed that he was to die. His newfound life now made that action a grievous mistake.

  He was her master, and she was his slave, and that relationship would never be altered.

  King Irael ran into the room, interrupting her grave thoughts.

  “Leola!” he cried, his voice panicked. “Are you hurt, Daughter?”

  “No,” Leola replied. “And neither is Ambrosius.”

  That was all she could answer, for the full weight of two horrors now overfilled her weary heart. She wept and gasped for air, sobbing aloud with every breath. The king wrapped his arms around her and rocked both her and the baby at her breast back and forth until they were both quiet.

  Chapter Forty Three: The Dobunni

  The next day, after Owain had finished giving Gratianna her music lesson, Swale and Britu came to the castle at Baddan. Owain was as pleased to see his clansmen as they were to find him alive.

  “God be praised,” Swale said.

  “And to think, we believed we would never see you again,” said Britu.

  Owain wondered if he would ever see his real self again.

  “Half correct, that,” Owain said. “I’m a mess.”

  “It is nothing,” Swale replied. “You are alive. That is what matters.”

  “Ie,” Britu said. “What do your friends care of a few scars? You are home. And we are together once more.”

  “And so is your sword,” Swale said.

  He unwrapped a wool blanket to reveal the naked weapon in his hands.

  “Calybs,” Owain said. “Sword of Togadum.”

  He grasped it in his broad hands and lifted it up to swing it around. His eyes filled with sorrow as he changed his mind and set it aside.

  “Leir!” he called. “Put it in the armory.”

  His servant came in and took the weapon away.

  Swale and Britu stared at each other, unsure of what to make of it, but Owain did not care to explain himself to them.

  “Tell me the news,” he asked. “I did not dare ask my father. Did we win the battle against the Dumnonni?”

  “To be sure!” Swale cried.

  “You won it for us, Cousin,” said Britu, obviously amazed that Owain should ask such a question. “The soldiers were chanting your name and singing your praises.”

  “It was all we could do to contain them,” Swale said.

  “There has been much grief over your... death.”

  “As there shall be over my newfound life,” Owain replied.

  He winced and gripped his back, for the pain there came with no warning and shot up and down his spine until it paralyzed him. His forehead broke out in sweat and his breath came in short halted gasps.

  “Does it hurt?” Britu asked.

  Owain could not help but be amused by such a question.

  “It is nothing,” he replied. “Tell me, why is the Army called out? I heard that the soldiers are ready for war.”

  “We are marching to Gwent,” Britu replied. “But when we news came to Gloui of your resurrection, we had to come straight away and see you for yourselves.”

  “It seemed too good to be true,” Swale said.

  “It was," Owain replied.

  He felt that his life was only half returned but for all his sorrow, he could not express this to his clansmen.

  “What happened to you?” Swale asked.

  “I hardly know,” Owain replied.

  Whatever he had assumed or supposed, Owain would not reveal anything to them.

  “I'm scarred,” he continued. “That is all.”

  But those scars were deep enough to penetrate his very soul.

  “We should have looked for you more,” Swale said, his eyes downcast. “I am to blame for an insufficient search.”

  “Think not on that, Clansman,” Owain replied, kindly. “The weather made it impossible to find anything. I'm certain the rain washed me miles away. I am most fortunate not to have drowned wearing all that armor. Drink with me.”

  The servant entered with old wine, bread, and dates, the last being a rare delicacy since constant warring in Gaul had interrupted Roman trade routs. The three friends ate until all was consumed.

  “But there is also a selfish reason for our visit,” Swale said.

  “Not now,” Britu said to Swale. “He is not strong enough yet.”

  Owain put out a calming hand to Britu as if to say “Let Swale speak.”

  “It is the Deisi. They have encroached on Silurae land.”

  “Then that is why you go to Gwent," Owain said, with a thoughtful frown. “Why a war in the start of winter? It is an odd move on the part of the Deisi.”

  “Strange, I grant,” Swale said. “But there it is. The Deisi march, and therefore so must we.”

  “If the Eire take Gwent, the Silurae shall be forced north,” Britu said. “Swale's father is also concerned with this threat to his own territory.”

  “He is,” Owain said. “If Gwent falls, Ewyas shall be vulnerable to attack. The Eire must be stopped now.”

  “You shall come with us then?” Swale asked.

  “I?” Owain said, and his thoughts consumed him.

  The choice was plain. Go to Gwent and face more horror over his appearance or stay in Baddan and ignore the world.

  “No. No,” he said, at last. “I cannot. You go. And God be with you.”

  He turned his b
ack on them and stared into the blazing hearth.

  "Owain, you are still strong, and still dominae over the Army,” Swale said. “Do not hide yourself away for a few scars.”

  “Do not speak of what you do not know, Clansman,” Owain replied. “I shall remain here.”

  “But-”

  “Of course, Owain,” Britu said, restraining Swale’s speech with an angry frown. “We shall visit you on our return.”

  Swale and Britu went out the front door and down the steps into the courtyard. They were hardly to their war ponies, when Britu ventured a word.

  “Swale,” he said, unable to voice his full horror at his clansman's words, “how could you?”

  “I was not trivializing his injuries, Britu.”

  “But that is exactly what you were doing! Did you not see the agony he is in? His hand and face are all burned! He holds his back as though there was a knife jabbing into it!”

  “Let us go.”

  “You should beg his forgiveness, lansman.”

  “We are leaving!”

  Swale mounted and rode out the gate, and Britu was forced to follow him.

  Owain was still in the sitting from, when the steward entered to give him a review of his possessions.

  “Leir has taken prodigious care of your things, Prince,” the steward said. “You shall find your weapons in the armory, clean and polished. As well as your weapons belt that you still wore on your return. Although, one knife was missing from your tent besides the one that you had taken into battle. Prince Swale made a note of its absence in the inventory he made of your possessions.”

  “Thank you, Tuathal,” Owain replied, absently.

  “I thank God and the ancestors for your safe return to us, Prince,” the steward said. “We would not believe that you were dead. We were so sure that you would come back to us.”

  “Thank you.”

  Then another thought came to Owain, and he was certain that the steward was the only one who could give him both an honest and thorough response.

  “Do you know why a Dobunni wished to murder my wife?” he asked.

  The man appeared surprised at such a question but quickly answered it.

  “I assumed it was because she had overheard Lord Eisu plotting the king’s death,” he said.

  “What!” Owain cried.

  He felt pure rage foaming inside of him like some crazed animal about to spring in attack.

  “Ie, Prince,” the steward said. “I thought you knew. I had it from the Captain of the Guard. It was an ambush set by Prince Inam, one of Lord Eisu’s brothers.”

  “What happened?” Owain asked.

  He was infuriated first that the Lord of the Dobunni should attempt to take Leola’s life. And a second time at the thought that Lord Eisu should seek to murder his king, a peaceful man who had not wielded a sword in seventeen years and had even spared the lord's life all that time ago.

  “The princess overheard them talking and informed the king, who sent the captain out to discover the truth of it,” the steward continued. “That is truly the extent of my knowledge on the subject, Prince.”

  “Of course. Thank you,” Owain replied, and he called his servant. “Leir!”

  His servant was there in an instant. “Ie, master," the man said. “What is it?”

  “Order a war pony saddled for me,” Owain replied. “And bring my sword and weapons belt.”

  “You are going to see Lord Eisu?” the steward asked, when Leir was gone on the errand.

  “Ie,” Owain said. “Tell the guard to be ready to ride.”

  Owain was armored in a moment and went out to the courtyard where nearly half of the castle guards were assembled and waiting for him.

  “May I inquire, Dominae, to where are we going?” the Captain of the Guard asked.

  “To the Dobunni,” Owain replied.

  “You are displeased with Lord Eisu, Prince?”

  Owain's quick ears caught the pleasure in the knight’s voice.

  “I'm infuriated,” Owain replied. “Tell me everything as it happened.”

  In spite of the cold day, Owain’s determination made it a speedy journey, and they were soon at Lord Eisu’s manor house.

  “Where is Lord Eisu?” Owain asked the Dobunni servants as he strode into the front hall.

  “He is in the great hall with the queen and his brothers, the princes,” one replied, in haste. “If you would just wait, I shall announce you-”

  Owain gave him no reply, but continued his steps from the front hall to the great hall, where he found the Lord of the Dobunni seated at the table at the far end.

  Owain recognized Lord Eisu, his wife Queen Deire, and the lord’s two younger brothers, Prince Inam and young Prince Bodvoc.

  Owain would not stop and wait for the hustling servants to announce his presence.

  “Lord Eisu,” he said, neither in greeting to the lord nor acknowledging those with the man.

  “Belenus and Derama!” Lord Eisu cried. “Prince Owain! You are alive! And quite scarred! Are you sure you are recovered to be traveling?”

  “Save your sympathy, Lord,” Owain replied. “My coming is on another matter.”

  “Of course. Of course. Sit down with us.”

  Owain did not take a seat.

  “Why do you want an innocent woman dead?” he asked, his voice revealing the hatred within his heart.

  Lord Eisu stepped back away from him, fright written across his face.

  “You traitorous fox,” Owain said. “You attempted murder of your king.”

  Prince Inam and Prince Bodvoc were on Owain with their hands on the grips of their weapons. As he drew out his sword, Owain sliced off Prince Inam’s head and then struck Prince Bodvoc square on the jaw with his plated elbow. The boy dropped to the floor, unconscious.

  Queen Deire let out a long muffled scream.

  “Peace, Prince,” Lord Eisu said, his eyes full of fear. “The king-”

  The lord looked like a little mouse caught in a snare, and Owain was the predator who now cornered him.

  “You were in a dungeon, Lord,” Owain replied, swinging his sword back and forth before the shaken man. “Locked up like a common thief. You committed treason by following that upstart. King Irael let you live. He set you free. He made you Lord of the Dobunni in your father's place.”

  Owain felt that his words themselves could slice into the man.

  “I have not forgotten the king’s goodness, Prince,” Lord Eisu said.

  “That is the trouble, Lord. You have an excellent memory. He spared your life. And you repay him how? By trying to murder him? And when that does not work, you try to murder a helpless woman holds has a baby in her arms?”

  “I beg of you-”

  Owain’s last back swing sliced through the man’s defensive right arm and through his exposed neck.

  Blood splattered everywhere and rusty-iron smell of a fresh kill filled the hall.

  Owain heard the soft cry of Queen Deire, muffled by the hand that she pressed inside of her gaping mouth. He stepped over the body of Lord Eisu and came towards her.

  “You need not be afraid of me,” Owain said, his voice gentle and easy.

  Queen Deire just stood there, staring at him with horrified eyes and screaming in spite of her hand.

  Owain’s confident gaze fell over her.

  She was quite a beautiful women, with soft hands and long black hair all bound up around her head. Her huge brown eyes stared up at him in dread.

  “Come, Madam,” Owain said.

  He spoke gently, turned his body to the side to show her that he was not her adversary, as he had always done with frightened women. He smiled, looking on her with admiring eyes, and held out an empty, open hand to comfort her fear. He would get her out of that hall and away from the carnage.

  “Give me your hand, Queen Deire,” he said, and his voice turned soft as creamy butter.

  But she took her own hand out of her mouth then and slapped at the air before hi
m as if to beat him away from her.

  Owain stepped, his eyes wide with a new revelation. She was not to be conquered by him.

  When he had died, what had left this earth was that magical part of his being that convinced people to like him in spite of themselves. Now he stood stripped of his power, and the queen saw him only for what little was left.

  “When Prince Bodvoc wakes up,” he said to the servants who were huddled by the far door, “tell him that he is now Lord of the Dobunni.”

  He went out of the hall, and the guards congregated around him lest any of the Dobunni guards should dare attack the dominae.

  “You did not take his head, Dominae,” the Captain of the Guard whispered.

  But Owain was too in shock to make a reply.

  Chapter Forty Four: Trials and Tribulations

  When Owain returned to the castle, his determined steps took him straight away to the armory and to the statue of his mother.

  He saw the perfect likeness of the woman who had given her life up for him over seventeen years before. He felt her tender eyes on his wounded spirit.

  “Mam,” he said, bitterly, “what now?”

  He had given his life up for the island, yet that was not enough. What he needed was forgiveness from her, his mother, but was at a loss as to how to obtain it.

  He slid his weapon from its sheath, his eyes soaking in every detail of its magnificent craftsmanship. The blade, shining in spite of the blood still smeared across it, had been pounded and folded until it created a long, extended diamond. The whole handle, from the leather strap that wrapped around it to form a comfortable grip to the gold and silver inlay that filled the carvings, showed the height of perfection. It was delicate and strong together, beautiful and terrible combined, and altogether balanced that he could set it across his forefinger, and it would rest there neither falling forward or back. It was an ancient sword made for a warrior of old long since who had stood victorious over all his enemies.

  There was really nothing like Calybs in the whole island.

  “And I'm no longer worthy of it,” Owain muttered.