The Beast of Caer Baddan

by Rebecca Vaughn

  “By the ancestors, Owain!” Britu cried, when they were safely away. “You nearly die again! What would your father do!”

  Owain laughed.

  “I did,” he replied. “But that is war, and that is always the way with war. Let us find King Vindi and greet him.”

  “He had better pay us homage after this!”

  Chapter Fifty Three: Looking for Peace

  They found their way to the Parisi camp, where King Vindi had set up a council of war.

  “Prince Owain and Prince Britu!” King Vindi said. “This is a blessed surprise! I thank you for coming.”

  They left their mounts with the knights and servants and strode over to where the king was standing.

  “God keep you, King,” Britu said.

  “Do not thank us, so hastily,” Owain replied. “The Army cannot take the journey in such a short time. We are merely two princes and a handful of knights.”

  “Any help is cherished, Dominae,” King Vindi. “You, most of all.”

  But as he looked on Owain, the king’s eyes grew wide with horror.

  “Belenus and Darama!” he cried. “You are covered in scars! Your whole face is burned!”

  “Ie, King,” Owain replied, with a smile. “I am aware of my newfound deformities.”

  “I- I-” the king flustered. “I beg your pardon, Dominae! I'm only surprised. I did not realize-”

  “That I have been through Hades and back,” Owain replied.

  He thought on the words a village blacksmith had spoken to him many months before to that respect.

  The king was too embarrassed to respond.

  “Ie, I have,” Owain continued. “I died and am now alive again. But that does not mean I cannot fight. Rest assured, I am most prepared to defend the Parisi from these Angles.”

  “Ie! Ie!” King Vindi cried. “Thank you, Dominae.”

  The king seemed so shocked and abashed that he could not say anything intelligent, but Owain was not bothered by it. He was a warrior, and he would fight.

  “Let us have the numbers,” Britu said, who was obviously irritated by the king’s ill manners. “We shall need them if we are to decide on a course of action.”

  “Of course, Prince,” King Vindi replied, hardly grasping his own words. “I'm also grateful to have you both included in the battle planning. Tytmon the Angle King is as strong as ever.”

  He led them to his meeting tent, and they sat down around the circular table.

  “Swale Prince of Ewyas is bringing the Army of Albion north,” Owain said. “They should be here within two days.”

  “God be praised!” said King Vindi. “You have gained us a day with that commotion you caused. The Angle are still putting that fire out. Perhaps we shall survive long enough for the Army to arrive.”

  “We shall,” Britu said. “And the city shall be safe.”

  “I am willing to believe anything after witnessing your daring today,” King Vindi replied.

  “Good,” Britu said.

  “Now what are your thoughts for tomorrow?” Owain asked.

  The king hesitated as if unsure if he should reveal some information.

  “I have forty chariots here that have been mounted with scythes,” he said. “But I fear my warriors are not accustomed enough to this form of warfare.”

  Owain nodded, for he knew how hard it was to drive chariot without a large spike sticking out of the side. It had never been a part of ordinary warfare and therefore rarely mastered. Yet Owain himself had been more than proficient with any vehicle and although he had hardly driven since he was made a dominae, he felt confident that he could lead the charioteers if need be.

  “Ie,” Britu said, “and the Angles form a wall of their shields, not unlike what we do ourselves.”

  Owain thought on their own very Roman style of fighting, and how the individual was often times of no strength by himself and yet, with others, may form an impenetrable wall.

  “Ie,” King Vindi said. “And I fear their strength.”

  “We shall have to create a hole in this wall of theirs then,” Owain said.

  “How?” King Vindi asked, bewildered.

  “Draw them out?” Britu asked.

  “Ie. Draw them out,” Owain replied. “Make them think that they are winning, and they shall create the holes themselves.”

  Britu grinned. “That might work,” he said.

  The plan went surprising well. The Angle, eager to claim a conquest, could not help but chase the fleeing Parisi before them. Once a group of Angles had left the safety of their formation, the Parisi soldiers turned on them in a vengeance. The gap that was left in the Angle’s shield wall was not filled with enough speed, leaving the exposed Angles as easy targets for the inexperienced charioteers.

  Owain and Britu stood by King Vindi's side and watched a well-planned and well executed victory.

  “For the land!” Owain cried.

  “For the land!” the Parisi soldiers replied.

  After three chariot attacks, the Angles departed for their own camp, and the Parisi celebrated, knowing they had cut their enemy’s number in half.

  Owain himself marveled that he had created a situation where he, the Champion of Albion, had not had to do battle at all. He half wondered if that was even valid, if he could count it as his own success when he was not risking himself in the fighting.

  A rider from the Army arrived, interrupting his musings.

  “Message for the dominae from Swale Prince of Ewyas,” he said, saluting Owain.

  Owain took the letter, broke the seal, and read.

  He had to be impressed by Swale's perseverance. The older prince really did not know how to lead such a vast number of men as the Army contained, yet this time, it seemed he had succeeded.

  “The victory is ours,” King Vindi said, his voice revealing his excitement and relief. “When this is over, no Angle shall never dare enter Parisi land again.”

  “What is the news from Swale?” Britu asked of Owain.

  “The Army is sixteen miles out and shall be here at noon tomorrow.” Owain replied. “Prince Swale has kept them to a perfect schedule.”

  “Ie,” King Vindi said, with a merry laugh, “and now that we no longer need them, they come.”

  “To be sure,” Britu said.

  It did seem a bit ironic, yet Owain did not consider this victory as winning the war, for the Angle still out numbered the Parisi and might have reinforcements on the way.

  “We cannot tell what each day’s needs shall be,” he said. “Thus the Army shall arrive on time, and we shall welcome them with open arms.”

  “Ie,” King Vindi said. “Of course. But now, the soldiers have gone to their dinner. Let us go to ours.”

  The next morning brought Lady Rhian and her warrioress companion to the camp.

  Lady Rhian's arm was in a sling and she had the scratches left from branches on her pale face, yet it was she who gaped at Owain in horror.

  “You are burned!” she cried.

  “Ie, Lady Rhian,” Owain replied.

  She recovered composure far more quickly than King Vindi had and inquired after his family.

  “I thank the ancestors that you are alive, Dominae,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Owain replied. “So do I. But it looks as though you have had an ordeal.”

  “I was thrown,” the lady said with a shrug of her armored shoulders. “One of the hazards of breaking a new pony.”

  “Very true.”

  “The last time I saw you, you had just defeated the Angle champion,” Lady Rhian said.

  “Ie,” Owain said. “A year ago.”

  “How a little time changes so much,” she said, quietly. “I heard you were wed.”

  “Ie,” Owain said.

  As he watched her face, he knew that she was not sorry for his marriage, and he felt that he did not need her to be. Lady Rhian was a part of his old life, his old self. She did not seem to want to be present in his new life, and neithe
r did he wish it.

  “I am to be married to King Vindi,” the warrioress said.

  “I'm glad for you then,” Owain replied. “The king is a worthy man but he is fortunate to have you.”

  Although the widowed king was five and twenty years older than the warrioress, Owain thought that they might do very well together.

  “Thank you, Dominae,” Lady Rhian said, with a pleased smile. “You and I, I think we shall always be friends.”

  Owain took her hands and kissed them.

  “I should like that,” he said.

  Then they went to find Britu and the king.

  King Vindi seemed concerned with the warrioress' arrival.

  “You should not have come, Lady Rhian,” he said, under his voice. “You took quite a nasty fall.”

  Owain was pleased to see affection in the king's eyes and knew that the lady was marrying the right man.

  “I had no choice,” she replied. “The city needs another day to empty, and some of the elders simply refuse to leave their homes.”

  “Hopefully we shall not have to finish the evacuation,” the king said. “This might be the last battle.”

  Even as they spoke, they noticed the Angle lining up for war.

  “Well, they are certainly persistent,” Britu said, amazed at their daring.

  “We shall crush them once more,” King Vindi replied.

  Owain's eyes gazed out at the forming shield wall before them, the bright colors, and the scarcity of men. He heard Britu's dooming words like some dreaded prophesy.

  “Something is not right.”

  “Ie,” Owain replied. “Look at them. They are fifteen hundred, if that.”

  “I heard you had a great victory yesterday,” Lady Rhian said. “Perhaps they are desperate now.”

  “Not that much a victory,” Britu said.

  Owain’s studious eyes glanced over their enemy’s shields at the empty camp. Somewhere lay the remainder of the Angle warriors, and he must discover their hiding place at once.

  “What is wrong?” the warrioress asked.

  “They are concealing a thousand men,” Owain replied.

  “Surely not behind the shields,” the king said. “What would be the advantage?”

  “No,” Owain said. “Not there. Somewhere else. We shall discover where. I need a mount.”

  “Take my chariot,” Lady Rhian said, and she called to her companion who stood by the war ponies.

  Owain stepped up onto the chariot.

  “Everyone who is mounted, come with me!” he cried. “Britu-”

  “I’m with you, Cousin,” Britu said.

  Britu's war pony was nearby in the hand of one of his servants and he mounted bareback and was ready to leave.

  “Good,” Owain said. He looked back on the king and warrioress both. “Stand your ground, no matter what happens.”

  “We shall!” the king cried.

  With that Owain left them.

  Chapter Fifty Four: A Permanent Peace

  The chariots with both charioteers and drivers filed out of the camp. Owain’s knights and Britu’s knights also came, mounted on their war ponies. Owain took the southwestern road back towards the city and the whole company followed quickly behind him.

  They were not half a mile into the woods when the scouts rode up towards them.

  “Dominae!” cried a breathless scout.

  “Ie! What is it?” Owain replied.

  “The Angles!” the scout cried. “They’re marching on the city! They shall destroy Petuaria!”

  “No!” Britu cried.

  “Then,” Owain said, “we shall stop them.”

  They went at once, leaving the wary scouts, and drove quickly through dense overgrowth.

  Owain heard the wind beating on his helmet and blowing his cape about behind him. The smooth ride of the perfectly balanced cart was no match for the rough path they moved along. Yet Owain found with some surprise that the pain in his back had eased where mounting a war pony the day before had aggravated it. He resolved the that he should use the chariot more often in spite of the tire to the legs.

  Their travel was so speedy that in a quarter of an hour they came on the rear of over a thousand marching Angles.

  “You shall not touch Petuaria!” Owain muttered. “You shall not have this land!”

  He yelled to those around him.

  “Cut them off!” he cried.

  Owain took the northern side of the Angle army, in hopes of forcing the invaders away from the city. As the chariots passed by the enemy’s lines, the scythes, sharp protruding spearheads mounted on the iron bosses of the wheels, cut at their legs. The Angles could not protect both their bodies and their knees, and fell in droves. Whomever the scythes did not paralyze, Owain beat down with his long sword, and the rest of the charioteers who followed after him did the same.

  “Aiernath suthecge!” the Angle command fell quickly on Owain’s ears.

  He knew that they were going south, out of the forest and into an open field where Owain was sure they could use the advantage of their numbers. It was better for the safety of the city, but more dangerous for those with Owain, who were forty charioteer knights and twenty mounted knight to what Owain guessed was still over eight hundred men.

  The captain of the charioteers drove up next to Owain.

  “What do we do now?” he said, his voice filled with stifled rage. “The Army is not here yet and we are facing twelve Angles a piece!”

  “We contain them!” Owain replied. “Do not let them surround you! Do not let them take you down!”

  The Parisi charioteers shouted their response and charged on the enemy.

  The Angles now held their ground, now seeming to have learned their lesson from their defeat from the day before, and would not move. Their archers shot out wildly at the advancing chariots, and a few of their arrows struck the war ponies and drivers. Chariots toppled and charioteers went flying into the dirt. More chariots drove in to protect their fleeing comrades, and the Angles fell on these with a fury.

  A lucky spear throw thrust right through Owain’s chariot driver, and the man fell off his seat, dead in an instant. The ponies went wild, running in a winding pattern away from the battle. Owain climbed over the barrier that separated his handing position from the driver’s seat, caught up the tie rope, and pulled the ponies to a stop.

  “Regroup!” he cried. “Regroup!”

  But his eye followed the Angle advancement.

  “No!” he muttered. “By God and all the ancestors, you shall not have this battle!”

  Owain turned the chariot around to face the Angle’s side and drove straight into them, knowing in his heart that he risked now what he had told the others not to.

  “Do not let them surround you!”

  The determined ponies trampled the unsuspecting Angle in their wake, until they were forced to stop in the center of the enemy lines. The Angle attacked Owain, but their superior numbers now proved a weakness.

  Owain stood high above them and with his long arm and even longer sword, he could strike them while they could not touch him. The Angle crowded each other to get at him, inadvertently getting in each other’s way. Owain’s clean slices cut them back on all sides. His sword sliced though leather, clothe, and bone, flinging hands and heads in every direction.

  His pulse beat heavy in his fingertips, and the sweat from his lined helmet flowed down his face and back. The bright lights of the sun’s reflection, bouncing off of the weapons, burned his eyes and pierced his sensitive temples. The consuming aroma of fresh blood, filled his nostrils and seemed to intoxicate him.

  He began to wonder if he should continue this forever, slicing and hacking at a never ceasing enemy. Perhaps he would die of dehydration and exhaustion. For no man, no matter what he lives through, is truly invincible.

  The noise of the battle around him grew so loud, he no longer heard it, and what came to his ears was not from that war at all.

  “Live.”
<
br />   It was the gentle voice of his mother, and at first he did not understand it.

  “Live, Owain.”

  That was what she had meant for him to do when she told him to run so many years ago. She had not doubted his bravery or his skill. She had wanted him to live.

  It was as if his memory became clear and unheeded, now playing back to him just as it happened.

  “Thank you, Mam,” Owain whispered.

  All around him, his enemy attacked, and once he had cut them away, more sprang forward to take their place.

  His sword continued to swing, but his hand grew numb around its leather grip. His throat went dry and seemed to crack and the pounding in his head made him dizzy. Every muscle in his body scream aloud in pain at the movement.

  But his mother had meant for him to live, and he was determined to do just that.

  He fought on, no matter what the agony of his body.

  Then came the low rumbling blast of the carnyx, and Owain's ears cleared at the sound.

  Owain could hear the instrument buzz over cries of war, and his wary heart birthed new hope.

  “The Army is here!” someone yelled.

  Owain knew that Swale and the Army of Albion, his Army, would arrive. His sword found a quickened pace, beating the Angle warriors down in every direction, until those around him were his own Britannae soldiers.

  “Owain! Owain! Owain!” they cried.

  His body gave way, and he collapsed in their open arms.

  “For the land!” he cried, but his voice failed him.

  “Dominae!” a centurion cried.

  “Get to the beach!” Owain moaned. “Save King Vindi!”

  The soldiers set him down on the ground and left for the other battle.

  Owain lay still for a long time, too weary to think or move. Every part of him was so exhausted that he was unsure if he should ever rise again.

  Owain looked about and noticed at a great distance, just at the edge of the woods, stood a woman. She was very old, perhaps the age his great-grandfather, King Rheiden, might have been had he still lived. She was also very beautiful, with soft skin and tender eyes that gazed on him as if she was looking at his very soul.