The Beast of Caer Baddan

by Rebecca Vaughn

  “I am,” Owain said, at last.

  King Irael took him by the hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “Then God speed you as well,” he said. “And God bring you back to me once more.”

  The porridge was brought in, and Owain ate quickly, knowing he had a long journey and that his clansmen already had a good start ahead of him.

  “Leola,” Owain said.

  He heard her faint gasp when he spoke her name.

  “Beauty,” he said in Saxon.

  He wanted her to raise her head and look up into his eyes, but when she would not, he smiled on her persistence.

  “Yea, Master,” she replied.

  There was that word once more, and with it, he could hear the dread within her heart. Owain still did not like his woman afraid of him, for that was exactly what this Gewissae girl was. She was his woman, his wife. If she feared him because his position was above her own, he would simply make her his equal.

  “You must stop calling me ‘master,’ Beauty,” he said, gently. “I'm your husband now. Call me by my name.”

  Her head shot up, and her tiny mouth fell open. Her whole face screamed her surprise and disbelief.

  “Call me 'Owain,'” he said.

  His gaze captured her shaking blue eyes and held them prisoner.

  “I shall return when I have seen my soldiers safely back to Gloui,” Owain said.

  He did not waiver, and soon felt that she could drink of his assurance.

  “Owain.”

  That seemed to be the only thing she could utter, but that was all he needed her to say. He saw the calm content seep into her face and felt an immense satisfaction from it.

  “I must go,” Owain said in Latin. “Battle waits for none.”

  “I shall walk out with you,” King Irael said.

  They rose and went to the courtyard where Owain’s servants and the mounts were waiting for him.

  “I'm sorry about the Dobunni,” the king said. “I should have done something to Lord Eisu. Britu warned me but I thought he was only begging for more war.”

  “Britu does do that a lot,” Owain replied, thinking of his young cousin. “But do not worry about what might have happened.”

  “Leola might have died,” the king said, sadly.

  “But she did not, Da,” Owain replied. “You must focus on that.”

  “I have already increased the guard,” King Irael said.

  Owain thought under the circumstances that was a very wise move.

  He nodded and wrapped his arms around his father.

  “Come back to me, my little Owain,” the king said.

  “I shall, Da,” Owain replied. “I shall.”

  Without another word, Owain released his father, mounted his war pony, and led the precession out of the castle gate.

  Leola sat in the great hall and stared passively at her breakfast, as her thoughts consumed her.

  I am his wife, his cwen!

  She burst into a flood of tears, as the wound in her heart closed up until it was whole once more.

  “What is it, Leola?” came King Irael's concerned voice. “Are you well?”

  “Yea,” she replied, for a moment was so relieved that she forgot to speak in Latin. “I’m fine, Father. I am.”

  “Well, here, use my sleeve,” and he dried her wet cheeks with the red sleeve of his tunic. “I don’t know what you said to him up stairs, but whatever it was it has cured him of his melancholy.”

  “I hope so,” she said, gasping for breath.

  “It has. You are a miracle, Leola,” he said, and he patted her on the shoulder. “I would not trade you for all the ladies on the island.”

  At this, Leola wept once more.

  The king, must have then realized that they were happy tears, for he began to laughed as he comforted her.

  Chapter Forty Six: Hero’s Welcome

  Swale and Britu stood on the hillside overlooking the field between the camps. On their side were the Army of Albion and the Army of the Silurae, and on the other lay the Deisi, an Eire people.

  For over fifty years, the Deisi had traversed the sea from the Island of Eirenn to that of Albion. They had settled, wave upon wave of migrations, in the Kingdom of Dyfed, they and their cousins the Demetae. Both tribes had been granted permission by the emperor to stay in the land.

  Now, the Deisi moved east, expanding their way into Gwent, the ancient territory of the Silurae. The Silurae were determined to resist the Deisi’s spread, but were of smaller numbers than their enemies. Both Swale and Britu were unsure of why the Deisi had picked such an odd time of year to attack, but they were determined that the war should end there.

  “Well there they are,” Britu said, as the two of them looked off to the approaching enemy.

  “I feared this day,” Swale said.

  “Feared? You?” Britu cried. “Why?”

  “Fighting a major battle without Owain,” Swale replied. “I expected it all summer, as we waited on the Dumnonni boarder, but it did not come. Once we had the Solstice feast, I thought that it never would. And now that Owain is found alive, it has arrived. A major battle against a strong and numerous enemy, and us without our champion.”

  Britu was struck by these words and was sorry then that he had been so harsh towards his clansman when he felt that the man had pressured Owain too much.

  “We are great warriors, Swale,” Britu said. “We shall win this with or without Owain.”

  “I know, and yet, how much more relieved I would be if he were here.”

  “Riders! Northeast!” a scout cried. “A quarter mile out!”

  “Who could that be?” Swale said.

  “Not Owain, surely,” Britu replied.

  “Probably reinforcements from my father,” Swale said. “But here is to hoping.”

  They laughed but sobered as a man, dressed in the costly scale armor, strode up to their chosen counsel and saluted them.

  “King Erb,” Swale said to the man. “This is my clansman, Britu Prince of Atrebat. Britu, this is the King of Gwent.”

  “Prince Britu,” King Erb said, nodding in greeting.

  “God keep you, King,” Britu replied.

  “Well,” the king said, directing their thoughts back to the distant Deisi camp and the slowly approaching warriors. “Now that you have assessed my predicament, what is your diagnosis?”

  “They have a weak front but are more mobile than we are,” Swale said. “We shall strike hard in the center. If you take their right at the same time, they cannot surround us. Sir Vesanus shall bring the knights into the left and cut off any who would escape. Prince Annon is with the reserves. He shall send them out to their left if we are overpowered.”

  “Good,” King Erb replied. “And God be with us.”

  He left them to return to his own army to the far left of the camp.

  “God be with us,” Britu said.

  Britu and Swale went down to the assembled Army, and Swale gave the orders to the centurions.

  The soldiers readied their weapons.

  “Blow the horns,” Swale said.

  “Blow the horns!” one of the centurion repeated.

  The air filled with the rumbling sound of the carnyx.

  “To war!” Britu cried.

  The whole Army marched forward into the Deisi lines, cutting down their front and pushing them back. The Deisi’s right pushed north into the exposed side of the Army, when King Erb gave the Silurae the command to attack. The Silurae rammed into the Deisi’s right, forcing them back away from the advancing Army.

  The Deisi center proved far stronger than Swale had anticipated. Although the enemy gave ground on the first onslaught, they held themselves against wave after wave of attack. The Army, clad in heavy metal, soon grew tired, while the lightly protected Deisi kept their position. The cavalry charged on the Deisi’ left, but well placed spears kept them from having any affect.

  As Owain rode up, he noticed young Annon standing on a high point near
the reserves. The boy's eyes were fixed on the raging battle but two hundred stride before him.

  “Prepare to march!” the centurion of the reserves ordered the soldiers there.

  “Riders!” a scout yelled, and then looked Owain full in the face. “Dominae!” he gasped.

  “Ie, 'tis I,” Owain said.

  He dismounted, and the servants took his war pony and headed towards the camp.

  Owain strode up and stood by the boy's side.

  “God keep you, Annon,” he said, casually.

  “God keep you, Prince Owain,” Annon said, with a cheery greeting.

  Owain waited, with a smile dancing on his lips, as the reality of the situation came to his young student.

  Owain was not supposed to be there. Owain was hurt and would stay in Baddan. Owain would not be fighting. And yet, there Owain was.

  Owain laughed as all these thoughts ran wild on the boy's face.

  Annon stared up at him with wide eyes.

  “Prince Owain!” he cried. “You’re here! You’re here! You’re really here! They said you were alive but I could not believe it!”

  “Believe it now, Boy,” Owain said, laughing.

  “Prince Britu said you were unwell, but you came!”

  “So I have,” Owain said.

  Annon threw his arms around him, screaming and laughing together.

  “I missed you! I missed you! I mean-” at that, the boy let go of him and stood up right, as if in an effort to contain himself. “I'm glad you are returned, Prince.”

  “Thank you, Annon,” Owain said. “I missed you as well. Who is out there?”

  “Prince Swale, Prince Britu, and King Erb.”

  “I meant whom are we fighting?”

  “Oh,” the boy replied. “Aed King of the Deisi and Prince Corath their champion.”

  Owain nodded, for he knew both of those men.

  “Well, it seems that our friends need our assistance,” he said. “Are you ready for war?”

  “I am,” Annon said. “Wait! You mean I can fight?”

  As Owain gazed on Annon, he thought how much the boy still had to learn and grow before he was a man. Yet his combat training, the preparation for war, was more than complete. Annon would not be any more ready to kill if he waited another year or seven more years. No man was truly ready to take another man's life, but that was the way of things.

  Owain smiled. “You can, Boy.”

  They went down the hill and the reserves went with them, into the front of the battle.

  The Deisi held their ground against the soldiers, but Owain fell on them with such a vengeance that their front ranks shattered at once. He cut through to the rear and the reserves filed in behind him, splitting the Deisi in half.

  “Stay with me, Annon,” he said.

  “I am,” came Annon's reply.

  Owain turned on the Deisi's left half, and hacked through their rear line. The Deisi, still directed east, could not turn to face the attack, and Owain slaughtered them with every stab and strike.

  “Annon, stay close,” Owain said.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boy struggled around the piles of bodies.

  “Annon!” Owain yelled, in rebuke.

  “I’m here!” Annon cried.

  “Look!” came the hoarse voice of one of the soldiers. “There’s Prince Owain! There’s our dominae!”

  “Owain! Owain! Owain!” the soldiers cried.

  Owain harried the Deisi’ northern line until they broke rank, dropped their spears, and fled. He then stood aside for the cavalry to enter the battle.

  “Annon?” Owain said, looking about himself. “Annon! Annon!”

  He rushed back to the Deisi’s collapsed rear. He saw a Deisi warrior standing just over a sword's reach away from where Annon had fallen and lay among the piles of dead. Owain recognized the man at once as Prince Corath Champion of the Deisi.

  Annon tried to rise, but put his hand into a dead warriors split open gut.

  “Ugh!” he cried.

  Owain charged on the Deisi prince and caught his downward swing, batting his arm away. Prince Corath tried to stab Owain with the long knife in his left hand, but Owain blocked the knife by striking him hard with the bronze boss in the center of his shield. The long blade of Calybs came down on Prince Corath’s left shoulder and across the back of his neck, hacking through his leather vest.

  The Deisi prince fell to the ground.

  “Owain!” Annon cried.

  “Get up!” Owain cried.

  Annon scrambled to his feet, wiping the blood off of his hand.

  “The cavalry approach,” Owain said. “If we stay here we shall be trampled.”

  “I’m coming,” Annon replied.

  They went out to the far back away from the battle and found a high point that Owain was sure the Deisi king had just vacated. Owain turned about and looked over the battle field.

  “Britannae to victory!” he cried.

  “Victory!” Annon cried.

  “Victory!” the Army yelled back.

  The Deisi’ far right broke apart, and its warriors fled. Owain and Annon stood on the high ground and watched as they passed by.

  “Run!” Annon cried. “Run, you cowards!”

  “Annon!” Owain said in rebuke.

  Owain saw the weary Britannae look up where he stood and recognized him as their leader.

  “Look!” they cried. “There’s Prince Owain! There’s our dominae!”

  Soon, the whole land rang with the sound of their cheers.

  “Owain! Owain! Owain!” the soldiers cried.

  When they had returned to camp, Britu and Swale marveled at Owain, but Owain's mind was busy with more important matters. He got a bowl of green paint from Leir and told Annon to stand still.

  “So the boy finally fought,” Swale said, impressed.

  “He did,” Owain replied. “And very bravely.”

  He rubbed some of the paint onto his forefingers and thumbs and slowly decorated Annon's young face with bright green spirals.

  “Now you are a true warrior,” Owain said.

  Young Annon had entered the battle, sword played with a number of Deisi warriors, even killing a few, and now stood triumphant as an equal to the other princes.

  Owain smiled, satisfied with at Annon’s accomplishments of the past two years. But Owain also knew that the horror of being kidnapped and held prisoner by the terrible Attacotti would not disappear in that time. Thus he resolved to watch the boy even more closely than he had before.

  Chapter Forty Seven: A Tentative Peace

  At sunset, the soldiers regrouped and returned to camp. The wine was brought out and each one had his cup filled.

  King Erb collected the princes and brought them to the hilltop too.

  “To Swale Prince of Ewyas!” he cried.

  “Swale!” the whole company, both of the Army and Silurae soldiers, cheered for their leaders.

  “To Britu Prince of Atrebat!” King Erb cried.

  “Britu!” came the soldiers loud voices.

  “To Owain Prince of Glouia!” the king cried.

  “Owain!”

  From one corner of the camp, the soldiers chanted. With every time, more joined into the chorus.

  “Owain! Owain! Owain!”

  “You must speak to them,” Britu said.

  Owain rose then and stepped on crate to address the crowd.

  “For the land!” he cried.

  “For the land!”

  Owain’s heart swelled with pride. This was what he was, the battle leader, the dominae. He did not need to receive pretty eyes from every woman he saw. He needed to fight, to save his land from invasion, as he had always done. That was the only way to honor his mother and gain forgiveness for allowing her to sacrifice herself for him.

  “Look how they love you,” Annon said, amazed at the crowd.

  “At least that has not changed.” Owain mused.

  “That shall never change,” King E
rb said.

  But although he believed the king’s words, he did not care if they were false. As he looked on the soldiers, he knew that even if they should dislike him or chant another’s name, he would stand by them. He would stand by the people of Glouia and all of the Britannae, because they were his people. He was a prince and he did right by the people, no matter what they thought of him.

  His thoughts traveled to the current war just won and the strange circumstances of it.

  “There is a matter of importance that I must speak to you about, King,” Owain said.

  “Of course,” King Erb said. “But tomorrow. Tonight, I have prepared a feast for us. You are my guests.”

  They went to the king’s meeting tent where a lush dinner was served, and ate, laughed, and talked, until well into the night.

  “But this is quite an opportunity,” Swale said. “The soldiers are excited to have Owain returned. And we have lost few lives with this last battle. We should march into Dyfed and defeat the Deisi on their own fields.”

  “I shall drink to that!” King Erb replied.

  He downed his whole cup and held it out for his servant to refill.

  “But surely there is no cause for such a display,” Britu said, his brow knotted in thought. “The Deisi are defeated, their champion dead, their king wounded. The threat they posed has ceased.”

  “Well, to Britu!” Swale said, his voice filled with amusement and sarcasm, “Britu the peace maker.”

  “Oh, stop,” Britu said.

  “But think of defeating the Deisi at their own capital,” Annon said.

  “Think of furthering your sparkling reputations,” King Erb said.

  “Think of keeping them from ever attacking Gwent or any other kingdom again,” Swale said.

  “You are thinking too personally, Swale,” Britu said. “Because the Deisi were a threat to Ewyas, you are willing to eradicate them.”

  “They are a threat to all of Albion, not just to my father's kingdom,” Swale replied, irritated that his clansman was questioning his motives.