The Beast of Caer Baddan (12 page)

“It is an unknown song in some other language,” another woman replied. “The Britisc have won, and we are doomed.”

A strange odor crept into the hall, and although from a distance, it was strong and putrid.

“What is that smell!” one woman cried.

They’re burning the bodies of our men!

Leola gagged.

“I cannot stay here!” one woman cried. “I shall go mad!”

She went to a large basket that was by the door and pulled out a short spear from it.

“Are you going to sit there and cower?” she yelled.

Ardith wept until her slender shoulders trembled.

“We are not all shield-maidens,” Leola said, in reproach.

“Either way, we shall die,” the woman replied. “Open the door!”

Others came forward, lifted the bar off, and set it down on the floor. The woman with the spear pulled the heavy door open and went out. Some of the other women went after her, but those with small children by them did not budge.

Leola glanced down at the younger woman she still held tight in her arm.

“Do you want to go or stay?” she asked.

“Go!” Ardith cried between her sobs. “We must go!”

Leola braced herself for what she was sure would be a dangerous undertaking, and rose to her feet.

“Come then, Ardith,” she said, helping the younger woman up. “We shall go.”

Without another word, they went to the open door and stepped out into the dreary night.

Chapter Ten: No Chance to Escape

The sky was a dark gray and the air felt heavy with dust and ash. The bright blaze of the fires cast a red hue on the knights’ faces.

The knights were glad for a close of the battle and eager to be finished with their work. A cup of wine was waiting for each of them at camp as a reward for their victory. They would not likely get prisoners unless they had funds to purchase one at auction, for their status was far below the princes and therefore did not grant them such liberties. But an expensive drink that they did not normally have chance to consume was a fitting bonus for the battle.

Owain stood away from the cinders and gazed on the captured Saxons. The enemy warriors had been forced down on both knees and await Owain's judgment. Some were still, while others twisted at the bindings that secured their wrists.

“Dominae,” one of his knights said.

“What is it, Sir-Knight?” Owain replied, not taking his eyes off of the enemy.

“We have found a body dressed in wolf's fur, Dominae,”

“What age is he?” Owain asked.

“About fifty, I would guess,” the knight replied.

“Giwis King of Tiw,” Owain said. “Congratulations, Sir-Knight.”

One of the Saxon warriors gasped in horror, and Owain realized at once that he understood Latin.

“And also Sir Vesanus has identified the body of Earlmann Wigmund,” the knight continued.

“Good,” Owain said. “See that their bodies are burned and scatter the ashes.”

The knight went on the errand, and Owain spoke to another knight who was standing by.

“That boy there,” he said, pointing to the bound Saxon who had gasped. “Take him to Venta to King Gourthigern.”

“Dominae,” the knight said, bowing.

He went to where the Saxons sat on the cold spring ground and seized the young man.

“No! Unhand me!” the prisoner cried, in perfect Latin. “Let go of me!”

“Silence!” the knight cried.

He dragged the young man off with much difficulty, and Owain continued his business.

“Bring me that one there,” he said, indicating Earlmann Sigbert in the group.

The soldiers grabbed the ruler of Hol and took him to where Owain stood. The earlmann was silent and looked up at Owain with disdainful eyes.

“Do you have anything to say?” Owain asked.

“
Abrieteest tha Britisc,” the earlmann replied.
“Kill the Britannae.”

Owain did not bother to reply to these words.

“In the name of the Emperor of Albion,” he said, “I execute you for rebellion against King Gourthigern.”

Owain had executed many men since he had been made a dominae over six years before. Some for ordinary crimes, such as murder, but others were for rebellion and treason. And those always opened up painful memories of his mother’s death.

Earlmann Sigbert had committed treason and therefore deserved to die, just like the upstart who had taken the precious life of Owain's mother.

Owain did not flinch or hesitate as he sliced the earlmann’s head from his shoulders. His heartbeat was steady even as the blood splattered, and his eyes never wavered, gazing on the head as it rolled aside.

The soldiers took the head away and dragged the body in the flames.

“Bring me Earlmann Eadric,” Owain said to them.

The soldiers searched among the prisoners.

“He is not here,
Dominae,” said the knight who stood by.

“Very well,” Owain replied. “Are there any other earlmann?”

But as his eyes fell over the captives once more, he knew by their clothing that none of them were rulers.

“No, Dominae,” came the answer tha the expected.

“Good,” Owain said. “As for the rest of these, cut their heads off and burn the bodies.”

The soldiers did as they were ordered, and Owain left them to their work.

Owain was weary from the battle, but as he returned to a calm state, the hurt, not of any physical injury but of memories, crept up his stomach and filled his heart with pain. He sought out his friends in some hope that their presence would put a balm on his wounds.

Owain found Britu, Swale, and Annon in the meeting tent, sitting around the table, eating a simple feast after the carnage.

“Owain,” Britu said, “now that was a victory.”

“Owain!
Owain! Owain!” Annon chanted, his face still flushed with excitement.

He sat down with them and took some bread, for their jollity lifted his sorry face.

“It was a great success,” Swale said, cautiously. “But many Saxons have fled back to Tiw. We cannot cheer too long and then be vulnerable to an attack.”

“They are fleeing,” Owain replied. “They shall not start a war again for some time.”

“Let them fly,” Britu said. “We shall get them all, for there is no place to hide.”

“True, but we cannot harry every village from here to Glouia,” Swale said. “We must act rationally.”

“Why?” Britu said. “What better way to be rid of them than to kill them all?”

“Let us not be blood thirsty, Clansman,” Swale said. “We are civilized men.”

“We are,” Owain said. “Let them fly as you said. King Gourthigern and the Venta Capital of Atrebat are safe. King Giwis and Earlmann Sigbert are both dead.”

They applauded at the news.

“To peace,” Swale said, raising his cup.

“To war,” Britu said.

“To victory,” Owain said.

They drank then.

“Prince Owain was unbelievable,” Annon said. “He’s killed a hundred Gewissae warriors!”

“Of course he has!” Britu said, with a laugh. “Do you not know he has Mascen’s soul?”

“Really?” and the boy’s eyes grew wide with awe.

“Their grandfather the Emperor Mascen died on the same night that Owain was born,” Swale said. “His soul was granted to Owain.”

“I didn’t know that,” Annon said, gaping at Owain.

“That is what my grandmother said, Annon,” Owain replied.

“Then you must become the emperor!” Annon cried. “You have the emperor's soul! It is fate!”

“Really, Annon!”
Owain said, too tired to be amused. “The only way I shall ever be emperor is if the kings elect me. Properly, legally, respectfully. I am not my grandfather.”

“I know, Prince,” the boy replied.

“I do wonder on the Gewissae's daring,” Owain said. “They did not have enough men here to attack Venta. Why would they risk it?”

“The Gewissae love war,” Britu replied. “They only wish to kill and do not think on the consequences of it.”

Owain doubted that the truth was so simple.

“Perhaps they had another more elaborate plan that was yet uncompleted,” Swale said.

“You have interrupted their schemes and prevented a disaster!” Annon said.

“Perhaps,” Owain replied.

He thought as much yet still wondered greatly what that original plot might have been. 

“The Saxon great hall is filled with people,” Swale said, as if suddenly remembering business matters.

“How many?” Owain asked.

“Over two hundred women, I should think,” Swale said. “I'll have them counted later tonight. I can send them to Lerion for auction.”

“We’ll draw lots in the afternoon,” Owain said, “and then you can send the rest. There is nothing else of value in Gewisland but the Saxon horses, and most of them have escaped.”

“Not that Gewissae slaves are of any value,” Britu said.

“I will have an accurate count by noon,” Swale said. “Shall I put Annon down to draw lot?”

“What?” Owain said, looked at Annon with raised eyebrows. “Give the boy a prisoner?”

“His mother would have our heads,” Britu said.

“Annon may have a prisoner when he fights, and he may fight when he is ready to.”

“Very well,” Swale replied.

“Eat, Prince Owain,” said Annon passing him a platter of small round cakes and purposefully changing the conversation.
“More meat for the dominae!”

Before the servants could go, Owain stopped them with an uplifted hand.

“No, no,” he said. “It is too late to eat. Too late or too early. The camp is set. I am going to sleep. Swale, will you see that Prince Annon gets to bed?”

“Ie, to be sure,” Swale replied.

“Good. God keep you.”

“God keep you,” they said to him.

And he took his weary heart to his own bed.

The night air was dry and harsh, and the whole sky was gray. The horrible smell of burning bodies filled their nostrils. Leola and Ardith stopped in the large doorway of the mead hall and covered their noses and mouths to the stench.