“I had to get your body so that your parents could bury you,” Owain replied. “But when I saw you chained up on the wall there, I knew that you were alive and I knew that you would live.”
“Barely,” Annon said.
“No. Completely. You went through at fourteen what many a man would not stand at thirty. You survived where all others died in a heartbeat. You truly are the bravest of men.”
At these words, Annon pull himself up higher in his saddle.
Owain dismounted and gave the reins to Annon who stayed on his war pony. He saw Garrick working in one of the animal pens, but when he neared, the boy looked up at him with a panicked face and backed away. Owain went in through the gate but decided not stop to greet the boy as he strode towards the grassy hut. If Garrick was afraid to speak to him it would not do to approach the child.
Owain knocked on the door frame and waited, listening to the complete silence within.
“Perhaps they are not home?” Annon yelled to him.
Owain did not believe that that was possible and knocked again.
One of the window shutters crept open and a cautious face peered out at him.
“Greeting,” Owain said in Saxon. “Are you Redburga, Leola’s aunt?”
“Yea...” she replied, as if unsure whether she should admit to it or not.
“I am Owain, her husband.”
“The aetheling?” Redburga asked.
“Yea. I am the Aetheling of Glouia.”
For a moment she seemed too in awe to speak.
“So you really are an aetheling?” she said, as if unsure whether she should believe him.
“Yea, I am,” puzzled by her questions. “My father is Irael Cyning of Glouia.”
“Wh- What do you want?”
“I wish to see if you were well,” he replied.
“Oh, I am very well. I thank you, good aetheling,” she replied.
Owain thought it best not to press her for any conversation, and she seemed unwilling to offer him any.
“Fare you well, then,” he said.
“Fare you well, Aetheling,” she replied.
As he walked back to Annon and the knights, Owain saw a man in the garden across the way, kneeling in the plants and looking through them at him. The man seemed an ordinary Gewissae commoner, nervous for seeing Britannae princes and knights in his village. There was nothing about him to notice, and yet something deep within Owain compelled him to speak.
“You,” Owain said, calling out to him. “Raynar, is it not?”
The man came to his feet in an instant.
“Y-y-yea-” he said, his tanned face filled with fright.
“I am Owain Irael-son, Aetheling of Glouia,” Owain said. “I am Leola’s husband.”
Raynar's eyes went wide with shock, and then his lips trembled and his hands shook for fear. He seemed stiff where he stood, paralyzed for fear.
“Are you married?” Owain asked.
“Y-yea, Aetheling,” Raynar could not seem to gain his tongue.
“To Drudi?” Owain asked, thinking of the name of Leola's friend.
“H- how did you know?” Raynar gasped in horror.
“I know everything,” Owain said, narrowing his eyes at him. “I am the monster that haunts your dreams. That waits for you in the darkness.”
Owain thought Raynar would faint from fear, and that idea gave him a great deal of pleasure. He wished to cut off the man's head, but his promise to Leola stayed his hand. Besides, Owain reasoned that the village had seen enough tragedy.
“Your wife is young and innocent I hear,” Owain continued. “See that you treat her well.”
“Y-y-yea, Aetheling,” Raynar gasped.
Owain turned his back on him and walked to the center of the road to where Annon, the knights, and his mount were waiting for him. A disdainful smile played on his lips.
It did not take long for Owain to discover the place where the boys of Anlofton had attacked their captors. He found the ashes and scattered bones from their bodies' sorry end far off to the west of the path.
“Dig a whole,” Owain said to the servants. “Put ever human part you find inside of it.”
He then walked the other way passed the dirt road and over onto the west side. His skilled eyes searched for the pit that contained the most scared part of the body.
“What are you looking for, Prince?” Annon asked, coming to his side.
“The heads,” Owain replied.
“Why?” Annon asked.
Owain looked on him with a patient eye. Although not a clansman, Owain felt that the boy was the closest he had to a brother. He wanted Annon to learn a little of life.
“The boys of Anlofton were killed and their heads removed,” Owain explained. “I am going to burn the heads and thus release the boys' spirits to their ancestors.”
Annon was silent and seemed to contemplate these words.
“But why do that?” he asked. “What is the point? They are just commoners and your enemies.”
“Annon,” Owain replied. “The right thing to do is more often making peace where there is war then it is winning a war. Here, the boys have suffered needlessly. Our forefathers taught us that the spirit cannot be released if the head is removed from the body. The bodies were destroyed and thus must be the heads, so that the boys may be at peace.”
Owain saw where the earth was raise up to form a sort of hallow mound. There within, with branches and leaves half covering, laid the skulls of a dozen boys. Owain knelt down before it, crossed himself like his mother had always done, and then said a prayer.
As his gazed over the grave site, he noticed the protruding foot of a Roman style boat. It was the kind that the Britannae knights wore. Simple and well made, with fine leather, and having nails protruding from the bottoms.
Owain knew that it was not one of his own knights, for Swale would have mentioned a death to him after the battle of Holton. He decided that it must belong to an Atrebatae.
“Bring me leaves,” Owain said.
The knights filled the pit to overflowing with leaves, twigs and grass, then they set it ablaze.
Owain watched the fire consume what was left. When it had burned out, the knights pushed the sides of the mound inward to bury the bones.
“And their spirits are released?” Annon asked.
“I believe so,” Owain replied.
He was not really sure if they were or not, but knew that his heart felt more at peace now that it was done.
“Come,” he said. “Let us go to Pengwern, for the Army must be there by now. Then we shall make our way back to Caer Gloui.”
“Owain Aetheling!” a voice cried.
Owain looked up to see young Garrick running towards them. The knights sprang forward to block the boy's way, halting him in his track. Garrick's face went white with fear.
“Let him come,” Owain said, to the knights. And then he spoke in Saxon to Garrick, “What is it?”
“Could you tell Leola something for me?” the boy asked. “Could you tell her that I found it?”
“Found what?” Owain asked.
“Found what she wanted me to find,” Garrick replied.
“Very well,” Owain said, with a smile. “I shall tell her.”
“I thank you, Aetheling,” the boy said.
With an awkward bow he was off, up the road back towards the village.
Owain felt the cleansing sense of hope and peace with the boy. The Gewissae would rise again, but this time they would be allies to the Britannae.
Chapter Fifty Seven: To Heal and To Kill
Leola was determined to heal from child birth.
No sooner had Owain departed from Glouia that she wrapped a large shawl around her, picked up a basket, and left the castle. Her resolute steps took her down the road she had walked many months before when she sought to escape Queen Severa's horrible tongue. She found the sloping tree where she had laid her head and where King Irael had told her stories of his own former day
s.
The field beyond was wild and untouched and Leola set to work immediately to find the best herbs. Many she knew by sight but did not recall their names, yet if they were for closing wounds and soothing bruises, she picked all she could until her basket was full.
Then something caught the corner of her eye and beckoned her.
It was a large flowering shrub about as tall as she was and the shape of a large ball. She was sure that she had seen that kind of plant a hundred times before and had even gone hunting for it with Drudi when she lived with her aunt and cousins in Anlofton.
Hawthorn.
Leola did not understand why but she felt compelled to pick its leaves and blooms. She could not think of a reason to put them in her bath, for she did not think that the hawthorn was associated with healing the external body. Yet as the feeling persisted, Leola gave in and took handfuls of the luscious plant.
It is good for something, if only I could remember what.
When Leola returned to the castle she gave the basket of herbs to Gytha with instructions to add them to her bath water in the evening. Leola set the hawthorn down on the table in her outer room and went back to the front hall to find King Irael.
Raised voices coming from the first sitting room, called her attention to it.
“Really, King Nwython,” King Irael said. “There is no need for this.”
He looked on the King of Colun with a kindly eye, but the Trinovanti ruler was furious and would not be appeased.
“You have no idea the shame and humiliation this brings to my tribe,” King Nwython said. “A Gewissae, and a commoner at that, his wife.”
“Leola conducts herself as a proper princess,” King Irael replied. “I doubt anyone notices that she is a commoner. Do not concern yourself with appearances.”
“I do and I must,” King Nwython said. “Prince Owain caused a Trinovanti lady to conceive and failed to marry her, and now he keeps a commoner Gewissae as a wife.”
“Owain refusing to marry that Trinovanti woman is its own issue,” King Irael said. “The lady was herself controversial. And I recall you fully supporting his decision.”
“I did,” King Nwython said. “Yet with the expectation that he would marry a woman suitable to his status and position. A king's daughter or a lord's daughter at least. Not some nobody barbarian.”
“King Nwython-”
“No, no,” the Trinovanti king replied. “I have made a stand. I shall not go back on it. As Father Vitalius has shown his support of this marriage, I'm taking my son back to Colun.”
“Removing him from the bishop's care?” King Irael was horrified at the thought. “But you interrupt the boy's studies!”
“I cannot allow my young Vitalinus to think that is it acceptable for the Trinovanti people to be pushed aside for foreigners,” King Nwython said. “My mind is made up. And if you do not wish for other kings to follow my example, I suggest that you take to hiding that Gewissae girl, so that she does not embarrass you.”
The door was pulled wide open, and King Nwython stormed into the front hall, almost running into Leola. He seemed surprised to see her, yet recovering his indignation, he went around her and stomped out of the castle.
Leola was still, not knowing what to say or do.
Shall the other kings shun Owain because of me?
“Leola?” came King Irael's faint voice.
She looked up into the sitting room to see the king slummed down into his chair. His face was ashen white.
“Father!” Leola cried.
She ran to him and took his shaking hands.
“Father, what is it?” she asked.
“Ah,” he moaned. “My heart. It is always my heart. It gives me no rest.”
She saw the pain and torment in his green eyes.
“Send for the healer?” she asked, thinking of the last autumn when the king had trouble with his heart before.
“No,” King Irael replied. “It shall pass.”
He laid a gentle hand on her face and stroked her cheek.
“Everything shall pass, Daughter,” he said. “But my line shall continue on, thanks to you.”
“The kings are unhappy with Owain because of me,” Leola said, sadly.
To her shock, King Irael started to laugh through the pain in his chest.
“The Kings of Albion shall never shun Owain for any reason,” he said. “They need him too desperately. He fights their wars, beats their enemies, and protects their people. They would not dare shun him. Not for his wife or anything. And if Euginius and Ambrosius are half the warriors that Owain is, they too shall be praised and valued, regardless of their mother's birth. Do not worry about the rulers. King Nwython is an arrogant fool, who shall lead his young sons to worse evil then he ever committed if he should persists in his stupidity.”
King Irael let out a long sigh.
“Father,” she said.
“I am only so wary for this troubled heart,” he moaned. “Soon I shall rest with my ancestors, and Owain shall king.”
“No!” Leola cried. “What would I do without you?”
The king laid a gentle hand on her face.
“For one thing, you would stop worrying about me,” he teased.
Leola laughed at that, but her mind was soon consumed with the horrible thought of his impending death.
Later that day as Leola was preparing to take the babies to the sitting room, she spied the hawthorn on one of the small tables in her outer room.
“Hawthorn!” she screamed.
“Mistress?” Grytha asked.
“The hawthorn,” Leola said, with a merry laugh. “I just remembered what it was for. I knew it was not for external injuries. You take it for menstrual trouble, stress, and heart ailments.”
“You do?” Gytha asked, amazed by Leola's knowledge.
“Yea. Take it to the kitchen,” Leola said. “Tell the cooks to crush it, heat it in water, and strain it into a cup.”
She scooped up a handful of the leaves and flowers and gave them to the girl.
“Then bring it to me in the sitting room.”
“Yea, Mistress,” Gytha replied.
The babies played on the rug at Leola's feet, and Gratianna snuggled into King Irael's side, as the king restrung her harp.
“Well?” the king said to Leola.
“What?” she said innocently.
“You have been making sly little faces at me this half hour,” King Irael said. “What is it you are thinking?”
Leola laughed, for she had not realized she was so transparent.
“I have a surprise for you, Father,” she said. “When it is ready.”
It was not long after that when Gytha entered the sitting room and handed Leola a cup of bitter tea.
“Drink,” Leola said, handing the cup out to King Irael.
“What is that?” the king asked. “It smells foul.”
“It is hawthorn,” Leola replied. “It heals the heart. Now drink it.”
“I hate hawthorn!” the king protested. “Can we not wait until the plant has haw-berries and make them into new wine?”
“And what would be the medical purpose of that?” Leola asked, bewildered.
She now realized why the healer did not cure the king. The poor man could hardly force the ruler of the whole kingdom to take his medicine. King Irael simply obeyed until the danger had passed and then resumed his former diet and habits, without any consideration to the healer's advice.
But Leola was not a servant or a subject to cower to the king. She was his daughter and would not listen to his silly protests.
“If six trees can give Owain power, then surely one shrub can give power to you,” Leola replied. “Now drink it.”
King Irael took the cup and stared at the horrible liquid within.
“Drink,” Leola said.
The king held his breath and gulped down the tea. His face contorted as if he was consuming the most revolting drink ever imaginable.
Gratianna
burst into laughter.
“You look funny, Grandfather!” she squealed.
“Just you see when you have grown children who think they know what it best for you,” the king said, in mock threats.
“I do know what is best for you, Father,” Leola replied, laughing. “Not dying.”
“Oh?” the king said. “I am not allowed to die now, am I?”
“We need you too much, Grandfather,” Gratianna said.
The king handed the child back her harp and placed a kiss on the top of her head.
“Then I suppose I should stay a little longer,” he replied.
Leola breathed a sigh of relief.
As the weeks passed, Leola made the king drink hawthorn tea four times a day. At first neither of them could tell if there was any improvement in his condition. But soon he felt the pressure in his chest decrease and thought he had less pain after he ate. Leola noticed that he began to relax more and did not grip at his chest the way he used to.
She had cured Ambrosius from his mysterious sickness, Owain from his melancholy, and now very slowly, King Irael from his heart trouble. Leola knew that she too would soon be healed from her labor and ready for Owain when he returned.
One stormy evening, Leola felt restless and worrisome and could not think why.
Something is wrong.
She rose from her bed and slipped the knife out from between the mattress and bed frame. Thus armed, she opened up the door connecting her bedroom with the nursery. The babies and their nurses were sound asleep in spite of the turbulent whether.
She closed the door and opened the other that led into the outer room.
The room was still but for a faint breeze from one of the windows. The air seemed to chill her heart and soul. Leola looked on the window in dismay, as a cloaked figure of a man stepped from its shadow.
“You,” the man said in surprise. “I know you. From Holton.”
He spoke in Latin with an assurance that seemed to attest to his words. As he came closer to Leola, the light from the hearth fell on his face and she realized that she too recognized the man.
The Beast of Caer Baddan Page 39
