The Beast of Caer Baddan

by Rebecca Vaughn

  “There has not been a Pendragon for over three hundred and sixty years,” Britu blurted out.

  “A Pendragon?” Owain said, more shocked than ever.

  He knew the truth of these words and yet wondered what it had to do with him.

  “A Pendragon, Owain!” Swale cried.

  “Prince Owain!” Annon cried. “They are meeting to elect you!”

  “Exactly!” Swale cried.

  “I?” Owain said. “The Pendragon?”

  He could not fathom that the kings wished to elect anyone as the Pendragon. There had been so many powerful Romans, both generals and dominaes, who had declared themselves emperors, but no one had actually been elected by the kings to rule Albion. The Pendragon, the ancient Brythonic emperor different from the dominion of the Roman’s, had not existed since the capture of Caratacus, more than three hundred and sixty years before.

  “Why not?” Swale said. “You were made dominae by the last emperor. You are a hero to every kingdom on the island. The Eire, and Pictii, and Angles, the Attacotti, and Saxons are all afraid of you.”

  “And you are the only male line descendant of Mascen,” Britu said. “Whom else would they elect?”

  “I'm sure I would not know,” Owain replied, his mind racing with the news.

  “You shall be the Pendragon,”Annon said, his young voice revealing his own excitement.

  “Are you sure that is why the meeting is called?” Owain asked.

  “I am,” Swale said. “My father has had the summons.”

  “I have had the summons myself,” Britu replied. “My father has made me Governor of Powys. I shall sit in the Circle of Kings and vote as well.”

  “Congratulations, Britu,” Swale said.

  “That is an honor,” Owain said, impressed.

  “Thank you,” Britu replied. “But you see how we are sure of the election.”

  Owain understood their certainty, yet it seemed far too wonderful to be believed. He had told Annon, over a year before, that he would never declare himself the emperor and thus become a tyrant like his grandfather had. The only way he would ever be emperor was if the Kings of Albion elected him. And now set in motion, was just that, a meeting that's only purpose was to make him the emperor. The greatest rulers of the island were traveling to the Capital to make Owain a true Britannae emperor. To make him the Pendragon.

  “I do not know what to say to that,” Owain replied.

  He felt as if his air had been knocked out of him.

  “Say you shall attend!” Annon cried.

  Owain laughed.

  “I cannot attend until I'm actually invited, Annon,” he replied. “That would be presumptuous.”

  “But when you are invited,” Annon said.

  Owain was too bewildered to understand any of it.

  “Of course,” he said. “It is only that I'm in shock. I never thought of being the Pendragon.”

  It now came to him how many times he had considered his grandfather’s ill choices that had left the island in ruins, without funds, food, weaponry, or men, and defenseless to the ravaging Pictii. That had been the start of all of the troubles that plagued the land for the last twenty seven years.

  King Gourthigern had hired barbarian mercenaries under the Saxon King Giwis to fight off the Pictii, only for those mercenaries to seek control over his own kingdom. With the land further weakened and vulnerable, other Saxons attacked the Kingdoms of Ceint and Colun while Angles ravaged Went and Ebrauc. Even the Britannae's cousins the Eire took the opportunity to pirate the west coasts of the island. Owain was certain that all this had their flowering in Mascen's unnecessary and ill advised war.

  And now, the kings would choose to make Owain their ruler, place him above themselves. Give him the power over the Circle when it did meet, the fortresses that spanned the land, the treasury that was still housed in Caer Gloui.

  “You would be the perfect Pendragon,” Britu said.

  “You would,” Annon said.

  “I must consider this,” Owain replied.

  “What is there to think over?” Britu said, with a merry laugh. “Say you shall be the Pendragon!”

  “Say it!” Annon cried.

  “I must think,” Owain replied.

  He felt that he was far too dazed to understand what was happening.

  “Owain,” Swale said, somber, “I should not want you to do anything without thinking it over, but I must advise you. The Kings of Albion shall not elect you as Pendragon as long as you have a Saxon wife.”

  Owain’s mind had hardly understood the news, but to interpret it now seemed a strange and unreal experience.

  “Probably not,” he said, baffled.

  “She is not Saxon,” Britu said, irritated. “She is Frisian.”

  “I do not think that would matter to the kings,” Owain replied. “She is Gewissae. Saxon or Frisian or Angle or anything else shall not matter to them.”

  “Then you know that you must declare the marriage nonexistent,” Swale said.

  “You cannot suggest he do something so dishonorable!” Britu cried. “Besides, think of his sons! Now that he has an heir, you say forget them all!”

  “He can always marry a Britannae,” Swale said, with a look of surprise at Britu. “There are few men in Albion who would not give anything for Owain to marry one of their daughters.”

  “That does not matter!” Britu cried. “He would not find a better woman then Leola if he traveled the island twice over!”

  “Britu, really-”

  “Do not lord over me, Swale,” Britu said. “We are equals, you and I.”

  “I was not trying to-”

  “How could you suggest such a thing? Leola has been everything to this kingdom. She bore him two sons! She discovered the plot on his father’s life! She killed that detestable King Cadfan! And now, they say she has made peace between Owain and the Dobunni people!”

  “True, true,” Swale said, annoyed, “but he can marry a Britannae and have seven sons.”

  “Dishonestly!”

  “And I ask you, who would condemn him for it?”

  “That does not make it right!”

  “Really! Would you tell him to be with a Gewissae and throw aside the whole island?”

  “I like Princess Leola,” Annon said, who seemed to feel excluded from the entire discussion, “but we are talking about ruling over Albion.”

  “This is a matter of integrity,” Britu replied.

  “But what is right for the land?” Swale said. “For Albion? For the people?”

  “Owain would be the Pendragon,” said Annon. “Think of it. The first Pendragon since Caratacus was taken from this land in chains!”

  Owain felt as though they were speaking of him and forgetting that he was there, and the course the conversation had disheartened him.

  “Peace,” he said, putting a gentle hand on Annon’s shoulder. “I appreciate your advice and opinions but this is a matter not for any of you to discuss. Now, let us feast.”

  King Irael returned to the castle and joined them for the midday meal. Owain thought it odd that Leola did not appear for but as he was still upset over Swale’s speech, he was glad for her absence. He did not feel he could address his clansman in her presence.

  The meal was not over before a messenger arrived at the castle with a notice of summons for Owain.

  “It is from the King of Venedotia,” Owain said, answering Annon’s unspoken question. “I shall attend the Circle of the Kings of Albion.”

  He set the letter aside and ate, his turbulent thoughts spinning in his mind.

  “Then you are to be the Pendragon,” King Irael said, when no one else ventured a word.

  “If the Kings of Albion shall elect me, Da,” Owain replied.

  He could not keep the hoarse sound out of his voice.

  “There!” Annon cried. “It is true!”

  “Of course it is true,” Britu replied, irritated at the boy.

  “You shall give up
Leola then?” Annon asked, in a quiet voice.

  “Annon!” Britu cried.

  “Peace,” Owain said. “You are brothers to me, but you must speak of this no more.”

  Owain could not help but notice the swelling guilt on Swale’s usually calm face. He thought to ask his clansman of it but did not wish to continue any conversation. King Irael was visibly concerned but said nothing, for which Owain was deeply grateful.

  The company soon returned to their meal and other, less forbidden, topics.

  Owain felt that he needed time to himself to process this news.

  The Kings of Albion were coming to elect him as the Pendragon. It was the highest honor anyone could ever hope to achieve, and the King of Venedotia had thought highly enough of Owain to call the meeting.

  A number of Roman Generals with their greedy eyes set on Gaul had declared themselves the emperor of the island only to cause bloodshed, starvation, and chaos throughout the land. Owain's own grandfather, Mascen, was one such man, who had drained Albion of valuables, men, and food, only to lose everything in a vain quest for supreme power over the Roman Empire.

  Owain had long ago sworn that he would be nothing like his grandfather, while his grandmother had insisted that he possessed Mascen's powerful soul.

  Owain felt that this summons was a testament to his greatness, to his worthiness to wield Calybs, and to all of the victories he had given the Britannae over their enemies. It was a restoration of the honor of Owain's tribe, which had held superiority over other peoples of the island within their ranks before the Romans devastated their Army and captured their ruler. If Owain was elected, it would raise his tribe and clan high above all the other Britannae once more.

  Perhaps most profound was not these, but the practical truth of the circumstance. As the Pendragon, Owain would take control of the treasury, taxes that had been meticulously collected for the last emperor the first three years of his absence, before the kings realized, in a mixture of horror and relief, the man would never again return to Albion. Taxes would also resume, meaning that Owain would no longer have to worry about paying, equipping, or feeding his soldiers. The many dozens of stone fortresses build by Roman hands that still lay empty all over Albion would also come to Owain's control. Their use would make defense of the island against invasion far more efficient. Owain's election as Pendragon could secure the land.

  Owain was certain that Swale was correct. The kings would refuse to elect Owain as long as he had a Gewissae wife. Half of the rulers were related to Owain, and most these, he was sure, would vote in his favor regardless of his marriage. Yet the rest of the rulers, though they were indebted to him, would not be willing to bow respectfully to a woman who was not only born a commoner but was not a Britannae at all.

  Owain gave a sad smile at the irony of the situation.

  If it had not been for Leola, he would still be sitting in his own room, rejecting the company of his friends and bemoaning himself his ugly face. He would have alienated his little Gratianna and caused his father more pain and stress then the king's weak heart could tolerate. Owain was cured because of Leola, and every success that he had since then the island was owed to her.

  The arrogance of kings, that they should look down on those subjected to them, even when they were indebted. But rhetoric, no matter how true, would not convince the rulers of the island to accept Leola as their Queen.

  With a long dissatisfied breath, Owain came to a decision.

  Chapter Sixty Three: Grief

  Through the open door where she stood out in the passageway, Leola had heard the words of Swale. She had not gone in and made her presence known to the princes but traced her footsteps back to her own rooms and refused to go out again.

  The words burned in her sensitive ears.

  Father was wrong. The kings will reject Owain because of me. And now he shall reject me because of them!

  She did not understand what the Pendragon was, but she realized that it must be an important position that only Owain could fill.

  He will leave me and tell them we are not married! He will become this Pendragon and shall marry a Britisc lady! She shall be his cwen, and I shall be forgotten!

  The thought pounded in her head like a relentless hammer.

  “Mistress?” came Gytha's quiet voice. “Dinner is ready and the Master, King Irael, has returned.”

  “I shall not have any dinner, Gytha,” Leola replied. “I am not hungry.”

  “Yea, Mistress,” the girl replied.

  “And, Gytha?” Leola said. “Call me 'Leola'”

  “I could not-”

  “Yea, you can,” Leola replied.

  “But-”

  “I am just Leola,” she mused. “And nothing else. Give me this courtesy.”

  Leola felt she must have been firm, for Gytha nodded her head in agreement.

  “Yea, Leola,” the girl said, with a hesitant gasp.

  “Thank you, Gytha.”

  When night came. Leola knelt by the babies’ cradle and gazed over their little faces. They were sweet babies, in spite of all the crying that attended their little teeth coming in. She would not give them up for anything, but a little weary thought burned deep in her heart.

  I wish he had left me in the mead hall. I wish none of this had ever happened.

  She wondered if King Irael would let her leave now. She could take the babies and go back to Anlofton. But, no. She could never leave little Gratianna behind. Besides, she did not think that Owain would let her take any of the children, and she would miss King Irael terribly if she did leave.

  What a mess this is! What an utter mess! And it is all Owain’s fault!

  Who had ever heard of a prince marrying his slave? What severe bout of insanity had struck him as to make him believe that that was a good thing to do?

  But that was what princes did. They went where they wished to, did what they wish to do, and thought nothing on how it hurts those around them.

  “He shall not care about one common girl.”

  She had spoken these words to her aunt a year before and now knew the truth of them.

  Leola heard the door open behind her, and she rose and turned around to see Owain walk into the nursery.

  What do you want from me?

  “Beauty,” Owain said.

  “Yea?” Leola replied.

  The back of his hand moved up and down her cheek, but she shrank from his touch.

  “Please, no,” she said. “I’m bleeding.”

  But once she had spoken thus she looked into his eyes and realized that he could read the emotions on her face.

  You know that I have just lied to you!

  She gasped in horror but could not make a sound.

  Owain bent down and kissed her forehead.

  “Go to sleep,” he said. “I shall speak to you tomorrow.”

  He went out then, leaving Leola more wretched than ever.

  It also did not bother Owain that she had interrupted his thoughts. He had gone in to tell her about the Circle but he was certain that she did not wish to talk about anything. He did not know what she had heard of it, if anything, but resolved to discuss it in detail the next day.

  Owain could not help but wonder at the difference in himself.

  The old Owain, before his terrible feat with death, would never have accepted being pushed away so obviously by any woman. He would have convinced her to let him stay with her. He would have called her pretty things until she blushed and coaxed her until she gave in to him. He would have held her there, so that she had to listen to him.

  The old Owain would have seduced her.

  The old Owain was the monster.

  But now, Owain was changed. He was made anew. And the new Owain’s pride was not so delicate that it hurt him to know Leola did not want to be with him for one night.

  He would talk to her tomorrow, after the meeting, but now he had to try to rest.

  “You still do not sleep, my son,” King Irael said.
r />   He took the chair across from Owain by the fire in the outer room of Owain’s chambers.

  “I slept most of the last summer away,” Owain replied. “Now, I lie in the bed and think of bright flashing lights and the horrible pain in my back.”

  King Irael nodded.

  “Your cousins are concerned about Leola,” he said.

  “They are,” Owain replied, thinking on the upcoming meeting of the kings. “And justly so, I suppose. The Britannae have never liked outsiders. It is a miracle they accepted Mascen as one of them.”

  “To be sure,” the king replied. “My father was formally adopted by his father-in-law and the heads of the clan voted for him to be called an Andoco. But he was a great warrior whose political connections made it a practical action on the part of the Andoco. As for Leola, she is of no value to our clan or the rulers of Albion. They shall never find reason to accept her as their own.”

  Owain was irritated by the remark. He did not wish to hear any more of the matter, even from his father.

  “I know,” he said.

  King Irael had a long sad face, but Owain could see that he mustered himself up to his task.

  “Owain,” he said. “You are my son. I shall support you, whatever your decision.”

  “Thank you, Da,” Owain replied.

  “If you declare a divorce from Leola, you can marry again,” King Irael said. “On the babies' birth, I made Euginius my heir in your place, and a divorce shall have no effect on that. You know that Leola shall always have a home here with me.”

  Owain was certain this was not what he had expected to hear, but he was glad to know that his father would stay by his side no matter what.

  “Thank you, Da,” was all he could reply.

  When morning came, Leola was determined to keep to her regular schedule.

  She rose and sunbathed Ambrosius, noting that Owain was absent from the courtyard. Then she nursed both of the babies, and took a bath. Gytha seemed to feel that something was amiss and wished to ease Leola's pain. The girl not only complied with Leola's request that she address her by name, but ordered Leola's food brought to her rooms without any word from Leola herself.