The Beast of Caer Baddan (38 page)

His father and clansman were both on him in an instant, and he thought they must have run down into the field even while the battle still raged.

“Owain,” King Irael said, wrapping his arms around him.

“I did it, Da,” Owain said, gasping for breath. “I did it for Mam.”

“Of course, my son.”

Chapter Thirty: Princess Life

The next four weeks were more pleasant and comfortable than Leola had ever experienced in in her nineteen years. When she was tired, she slept. When she was cold, others lit the fires and brought her soft blankets. And when her swollen feet ached, Gytha gently rubbed ointment on them. There was nothing she asked for that was not immediately provided.

With Queen Severa's departure, there was also no one to chastise her, for if the steward or anyone else despised their commoner mistress, she suspected that they were not at liberty to show it.

Gytha admired Leola’s long tresses and was pleased to find different hair styles that did not require painful hair combs.

“There, Mistress,” she said, proudly.

Leola took the offered silver hand mirror and smiled at her reflection. The hair at both of her temples was braided and pulled back away from her face. The two braids were bound together in the back of her head by a crimson ribbon. The style seemed to create a crown around her head, and held the rest of her loose hair in place.

“This is how the ladies and princesses of the North County wear their hair,” Gytha said.

“It is very nice,” Leola replied, pleased.

“And a red ribbon for the Andoco.”

“Really?”

Leola could not see the ribbon that was in back of her head, no matter how much she turned the mirror to look.

“Why red? Why is that for the Andoco?” she asked.

“Because the Andoco always wear red paint, Mistress,” Gytha replied.

Leola knit her brow, remembering that the servants had painted Owain’s face with red spirals before he left the tent.

All this talk about Andoco, and I still have no idea what that is
.

As the season continued to change, the nights grew frigid and the plants in the garden lost their luscious green leaves. Leola's time outside was gradually diminished with each passing day, as the cool air turned cold. But she found that she enjoyed sitting across from the king in one of the small rooms off of the front hall, she sewing, and he with a book in hand. It did not matter if he read aloud to her, or if they would talk, or were just silent, listening to the cracking of the fire.

“My aunt must be harvesting now,” Leola said, and Gytha translated her words in the Brythonic.

“Some things,” the king replied. “But others will not be ripe for a few more weeks. Your aunt is in Hol?”

Leola gasped at the mention of her town that still lay in ruins in the south of Gewisland.

“She lives in Anlofton,” she replied. “It is further north from Holton. It is a very small village.”

“I have not been to the land of the Gewissae for many years,” the king said. “I was acting as mediator between King Giwis and my clansman King Gourthigern.”

Leola doubted that such men wanted peace at all, even with King Irae's gentle voice guiding them.

“Clansman?” she asked.

“The Andoco,” the king said.

There was that word again, “Andoco.”

“What is the Andoco?” she asked.

“Oh!” he said with some surprise. “Well, originally Andoco was a man.”

She gave him a confused face, and he tried to explain.

“The Britannae are the whole nation,” King Irael said. “And within the Britannae are many tribes, including the Catuvelani, and within the Catuvelani are many clans. One of which is called the Andoco. We are descendant of the hero Andoco.”

Leola thought of how her own people were called the Gewissae after their leader Giwis Cyning.

“I think I understand it now,” she replied. “Your forefathers were the sons of Andoco and therefore called by his name.”

“Mostly,” the king replied. “My mother was an Andoco, and when she married my father, her own father Rheiden adopted my father and convinced the clan to accept him. It was very strange I suppose, bringing a Roman general into their midst, but they were so impressed by his fearlessness and daring that they relented and declared him one of their own.
So all of his children were born to that clan.”

Leola thought on his words a moment, turning them over in her head.

“And Owain,” she said. “He was an Andoco.”

“He was,” the king replied, sadly.

“And Gratianna?” Leola asked.

“The child?
She too is an Andoco.”

Leola put a wide hand on her growing belly. She felt the steady movement of the tiny body within her.

“Your baby is an Andoco as well,” the king said, answering her unspoken question.

“You are sure, Father?” she asked.

“Of course,” the king replied.

Leola felt a strange mixture of pride and whelming. Her child would be just like Owain in every way.

Leola did have one odious task. She wished to befriend Owain's little daughter, Gratianna, and she soon realized that to do so she must learn to speak in Latin. Leola had learned to decipher the language as a child. The visiting Christian priest was always trying to teach the boys of Holton different scripture passages, and Leola had listened intently and learned to understand much of what he said. Understanding and speaking proved two very different disciplines, for she often said a sentence many times to herself in confidence, only to repeat it incorrectly to the child a moment later.

“God keep you, Gratianna,” Leola said.

“God keep you, Leola,” the child said.

“What that is?”

“What?”

“What is that?” and Leola pointed to the object she was concealing in her hand.

The child put her fist together tightly and hid her whole hand behind her back.

“Nothing,” she replied.

“Very well then,” Leola said, with a warming smile. “I am going out to the garden. Would you like to go with me?”

Gratianna shook her head from side to side as a decline.

“God keep you,” she said, and ran off down the passageway.

Leola walked out to the front hall, but as she crossed the wide floor, something caught the corner of her eye.

Through the open door of one of the sitting rooms on the other side, she saw King Irael's white face and clenching hand. His eyes were wide with horror, and his lips moved as if he might cry out.

“Father!” she cried, but her steps were too slow to be of any assistance.
“Help! Help!”

Perhaps the servants could not understand the words but the panic in her voice was clear. Leola pointed to the silent king, and all of the servants rush to his side. They laid him down on one of the cushioned benches and brought water and wine for him to drink. The steward yelled something to one of the servants, and that man rushed out the fount door.

He has gone for a healer. This is serious indeed
.

Leola’s hand moved to make a cross.

“Mistress?” Gytha said. “Sit down over here.”

She took Leola’s arm and directed her into one of the other rooms.

“What has happened to King Irael?” Leola asked.

“The steward said that it is his heart again,” Gytha. “Hopefully the healer shall hurry.”

Leola rubbed her protruding stomach.

“I hope the healer can help,” she said.

For his sake as well as my own
.

Leola did not know what she might do if King Irael were to die. His disapproving sister might wish her dead. That horrible son of hers, Prince Britu, might be willing to kill Leola. Leola did not know and prayed that she would never find out.

The next day brought no better news of the king's condition. Throughout the night, his heart had stopped and started again with irregularity. He could no longer raise his head, but instead lay still while the healer rubbed herbs on his chest and head and forced foul tea down his reluctant throat.

Leola prayed again for him, for that was the only thing she could do. When she finished, she made the sign of the cross, from her head to her heart and from her right to her left.