Born of the Sun (27 page)

Part of Niniane longed to reach for her baby again, but she was so tired, so very tired … Her eyes closed and she slept.

When she wakened many hours later, the storm was over. Someone had opened the shutters and the sun was streaming in the window. She saw with surprise that Ceawlin was still in the room. A shaft of sunlight from the window drew sparks of silver from his hair. He was standing before the basket, looking down at his son.

Ceawlin named his son Cerdic, after Cynric’s father, who had first brought the West Saxon folk to Wight. Cerdic was a beautiful baby, with large blue eyes and a fuzz of downy golden hair. Niniane thanked God on her knees every night for his goodness in giving her such a fair and healthy child.

One thing only gnawed at her joy. Ceawlin refused to allow Cerdic to be baptized.

“No,” he said flatly when Niniane spoke of the priest’s coming the following summer. “No Christian priest is going to cast his spells on my son. He is Woden-born, a future King of Wessex. I will not allow your priest to come near him.”

Niniane had been astonished. He had been so accommodating about their marriage, she had never expected him to take such a stand. But nothing she could say would move him. His son was not to be baptized and there was an end to it. Niniane decided to let the matter drop for a while. Cerdic could not be baptized until Father Mai returned in the summer anyway, so it seemed pointless to argue.

Toward the end of winter, Ceawlin sent Sigurd south to Venta to try to get word from Cutha of what was happening in Winchester. Sigurd was to do as Ceawlin had done the previous year, stay at the bakery with Helwig and have her send a message to Winchester.

“I must know what I can expect,” Ceawlin said to his friend as he sent him off one gray-blue morning in late February. “Are any more thanes likely to join with me? If so, they must come soon. I cannot tarry here at Bryn Atha through the spring waiting for Edric. I must be the one to make the first move.”

Sigurd left and Ceawlin took the rest of the thanes out to hunt for a wolf that had killed a sheep and a newborn calf in their pastures the previous two nights. Niniane and her women were alone at the villa, sitting in the winter room, which Niniane had set aside as the women’s room, when Naille came riding into the courtyard.

Meghan went to the door to let him in. Niniane looked up from her spindle and smiled when she saw who it was. “Naille! How good to see you. But Ceawlin is not here. A wolf got one of our calves last night and he and the thanes went after it.”

The clan leader’s face was very somber. “I did not come to see Ceawlin, Niniane. I came to see you.” He looked at the girls working at the looms. “May we speak alone?”

Niniane kept her surprise from showing on her face. “Of course,” she said. Then, as the girls prepared to leave the room, “No. Stay. I will take Naille to the dining room.” She rose, put down her spindle and wool, and led the way down the gallery.

“Coinmail is at the farm,” he said as soon as he closed the door behind them.

Niniane felt all the color drain from her face. She stared at Naille, who looked as pale as she felt. “Wh-what does he want?”

“He heard that you and Ceawlin had come to Bryn Atha and that we had joined with the Saxons at Cob Ford. That is what has brought him home.”

“But how did he find these things out, Naille? I thought he was in Glevum. That is on the other side of the Aildon hills!”

“One of our people rode to Glevum to tell him. Not everyone is pleased to see British boys coming so under the influence of the Saxons. Not everyone is in agreement with my decision to support Ceawlin.”

“Who told him?” Niniane demanded fiercely.

The Briton shrugged. “What does it matter? What matters is that he knows and that he is here to put a stop to any cooperation between the Atrebates and your husband.”

Niniane sat on one of the dining-room benches and stared at Naille out of worried eyes. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I don’t know. But he wants to see you, Niniane. And I think it would be well for you to talk to him. Perhaps you can make him understand what it is that we hope to gain by supporting Ceawlin.”

“Do you want me to come now?”

“Yes. While Ceawlin is out hunting. I think it will be best if we can keep Coinmail and Ceawlin apart.”

“Yes,” Niniane agreed fervently. “That is true. Very well, Naille. I will tell the women that Alanna wishes to see me.”

“Good.”

“I must feed Cerdic first.”

Naille sighed. “All right. But hurry, Niniane! I don’t want Ceawlin coming to the farm looking for you. He and Coinmail—”

“I know. I know. I will do my best, Naille. Why do you not go down to the barn and get Ruist saddled?”

“All right.” And the Briton went to ready her horse.

Niniane waited until they had left the courtyard of Bryn Atha and turned onto the track that would take them to Naille’s farm before she asked the question that had been worrying her most. “Has Coinmail made an agreement with the Dobunni?”

“They have not agreed to fight for Atrebates land, if that is what you mean,” he answered. “Coinmail was not able to impress them with any sense of their own danger. Close as they are to Wales, the Dobunni have been safe for too many years. The Saxons did not threaten Glevum even in the days of Arthur.”

“Then Coinmail has failed …”

“Coinmail is to marry a Dobunni princess,” Naille said. He added, his voice dry, “In many ways, he and Ceawlin are very like.”

Niniane did not answer, but she turned Naille’s words over silently in her mind. Perhaps, in a superficial way, what Naille had said was true. Both Ceawlin and Coinmail were ambitious men, both fighters and leaders. Both had a strong sense of their own mission in life. But the personalities of the two were utterly opposed.

Niniane had not seen her brother for three years, but she remembered vividly the years she had spent under his domination. She had admired him, striven to please him, allowed him to rule her naturally spontaneous feelings with his relentless iron judgment. Her only escape from him had been Kerwyn and music; he had known that, and that was why he had so disapproved of the old harper. His was a nature that demanded utter submission.

It was not until she went to Winchester that she realized how subjugated she had been at home.

Ceawlin was not like that. Ceawlin released her natural feelings, her natural vivacity. His was fully as dominant a personality as Coinmail’s, yet she never felt with her husband that she must watch her tongue, hide her emotions….

“He is very angry,” Naille said, his voice breaking into Niniane’s thoughts. “He feels I have betrayed him.” There was pain in Naille’s face, in his voice. “I have only done what I felt was best for the tribe, Niniane.”

“I know that, Naille. Most of the Atrebates know that too, else they would never have gone to fight with Ceawlin at Cob Ford.”

“I had to restrain Gereint from physically attacking Coinmail at one point,” Naille said, his voice still a little shaky. “Ceawlin has certainly won the young ones to his side.”

“He is so young himself, you see.”

Naille turned to look into her face. “So is Coinmail,” he answered.

Niniane’s smile was wry. “But Ceawlin is much more fun.”

“Yes.” Naille’s voice held the same note as her smile. “He is.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. The road was a quagmire from the melting snow, and the horses and riders were splattered with mud by the time they reached Naille’s farm. Gereint had evidently been waiting for them, for he appeared in the yard as soon as they did and came to hold their horses.

“I am glad you have come, my lady,” he said to Niniane. His cheeks wore bright spots of color.

“I hope you have not been arguing again with your prince,” said Naille sharply. Gereint looked mutinous but did not reply. Naille’s mouth settled into a thin line. “Go and clean these horses,” he said, and Gereint led the animals away toward the barn.

Coinmail was in the kitchen with Alanna and the younger children. The first thing Niniane saw was the dark, burnished red of his hair. He got to his feet and stared at her, his eyes like dark gray ice in his fair-skinned face. “So,” he said. “Here is my sister. The wife of the Saxon.”

Niniane looked back at him, her own eyes level, her face composed. “Greetings, Coinmail,” she said.

“Take off your cloak, Niniane, and let me get you a hot drink.” Alanna was coming toward her and Niniane smiled faintly and allowed the woman to take her cloak. Then she came forward to stand before her brother.

She had thought once that he was so tall. He was considerably taller than she, of course, but his size did not intimidate her as once it had. She had grown used to looking so much higher. She raised her brows and said, “Why have you come?”

There was a flicker of surprise in the gray eyes. He was not accustomed to his little sister speaking to him in that particular tone. Then he frowned. “I have come to put an end to this Saxon occupation of Bryn Atha. This … husband of yours must go elsewhere. And his followers with him. I will not have a Saxon on my land.”

Niniane stared at her brother, at the features she had known since childhood. Coinmail was an extraordinarily good-looking man. Almost as good to look upon as Ceawlin. But Coinmail’s features, though beautifully regular and harmonious, were always severe. There was never any softness in the line of his perfectly cut mouth, never any tenderness in his face as there was in Ceawlin’s when he looked at his sleeping son, or talked to Bayvard, or made love to her.

Coinmail had intimidated her for years, she thought, because he had held her in awe. She had always felt she must admire a man who was so dedicated, so fanatic in his single-mindedness. He had dominated her father as well. Ahern had deferred to Coinmail from the time Coinmail turned ten.

But she looked now at her brother and saw a man as fallible as she herself was. Coinmail was no more perfect than any other of God’s creatures, and that thought gave her courage. “Bryn Atha is my home,” she said. “And Ceawlin is my husband. You approved the marriage, Coinmail. After Beranbyrg—where I understand you took your life from Ceawlin’s hands.”

His eyes were like gray ice. “I had no choice but to approve the marriage. It was your fault you were taken, Niniane. I told you to go to Geara’s farm. But you did not listen.”

“Kerwyn was too ill to move.”

“The Saxons would not have been interested in a sick and dying harper. But they were interested in you, a princess of the Atrebates. I told you that. I made a special trip back to Bryn Atha to warn you. Once you were taken, there was nothing more I could do for you.”

Niniane read unerringly what was in his mind. He had washed his hands of her because she had disobeyed him. Bitterness rose in her heart.

“You made a mistake also, Coinmail, when you left Bryn Atha to go to Glevum,” she said. “The tribe made its choice while you were gone, and its choice is to make peace with the Saxons. Ceawlin will be king of this country one day and he has sworn to protect the land of the Atrebates as if it were his own. My husband is a man of his word— unlike my brother.”

There was silence in the kitchen. Alanna and Naille were but shadows in the corner of Niniane’s eyes. Coinmail stood before her, his face looking as if it had been carved in stone. Niniane read well in her brother’s iron silence what he was feeling. Not shame, but fury. Cold fury. Buried like an iceberg below the controlled surface of his face and his mind.

“I see you have been tempted by the enemy,” he said at last.

“Ceawlin is not the enemy.” It was Alanna speaking now, trying to diffuse the hostility that had so palpably arisen between brother and sister. “I have tried to tell you, Coinmail. He has married Niniane in the Christian faith. And he is truly a good boy. Why, he even climbed a tree to rescue Isolde’s cat!”

“He has the cleverness of Satan,” said Coinmail. “I see that well. He has won you all, has he not?”

“We were beaten into the ground at Beranbyrg.” It was Naille speaking now. “And you say you have not been able to make an agreement with the Dobunni. So what do you offer us, Coinmail? A repetition of Beranbyrg, with more of our men and boys slain by Saxon spears? We cannot fight them! I was at Cob Ford. Ceawlin put the Britons in the rear and all we did was follow the Saxon charge. They come down like an avalanche, Coinmail! It’s Ceawlin who does it. You saw him at Beranbyrg. I doubt the first Saxon line there would have held were it not for him. He would make a formidable enemy. But I think he will also make an honorable friend.”

“You speak of honor from a Saxon?” Coinmail’s voice was cold with contempt. “He is using you, that is all. And once you have helped to win his kingship for him, he will show his true colors.”

“I do not think so,” said Naille. His brown eyes held Coinmail’s steadily.

There was a tense silence. Then Coinmail said slowly, “Even if all you say is true, even if this Ceawlin keeps to his word and protects our land, still I say he is my enemy. He is a Saxon and I am a Briton. He is a pagan and I am a Christian. He and his kind are my enemy, and I will never rest until they are purged forever from this land.”

He meant every word he said, Niniane thought. That was why he was so impressive. She had been petty to accuse him of betraying his word. He would not look at it that way. Simply, he would take any course, follow any path, that would bring him his goal of destroying the Saxons.

It was Naille who answered him. “You are not another Arthur, Coinmail. And even if you were, the will to join together in common battle is no longer with the Britons. The Saxon kingdoms are spreading all over this land, and nothing you can do will stop them. But there is another difference from the time of Arthur. As Ceawlin once said to Gereint, the Saxon folk are no longer the same barbarian pirates who first landed on our shores. They have become civilized, Coinmail. The thanes at Bryn Atha are as gentle and courteous as the highest-born British prince. Niniane says that under Cynric Venta has once again become a thriving city. And one day they will turn Christian. Look at the Franks. Why should not the Saxons go the same way?”