The Beast of Caer Baddan (43 page)

He then made the symbol for the oak.

“You are the Alder,” King Rheiden said. “Mighty, fierce, and invincible.”

And he traced the symbol for that tree.

“But you must also be the Hazel,” King Rheiden continued. “Judicious, wise, and peaceful. For war must be proportioned with harmony lest the land be torn asunder. You must also be the Willow. Enchanting, passionate, and vibrant. For like the sun, people will always seek a hero to love and not one to fear as the thunder. And above all, you must also be Ash. Uniting, binding, and securing. Or else nothing that was built will last.”

Each one, he traced on Owain's forehead with his wrinkled finger.

“That is balance,” he said.

“Ie, Forefather,” Owain replied, in awe.

“You have been granted Calybs,” King Rheiden said. “Follow the example of these trees and you will always be worthy of the Sword of Togadum.”

Owain was unsure what to make of King Rheiden's words but understood that they were a blessing on him.

“Now, Boy,” King Rheiden said, “go on. I am sure you have much to do.”

“Thank you, Forefather,” Owain replied.

He kissed his great-grandfather's hand and went out, down the dark passage and out to the front hall. He strode passed the throngs of dignitaries, who had come to Aracon to pay their respects. He did not look up at the many of his own clan who were weeping among them, but walked straight outside to the violent storm.

The rain and wind screamed out their fury, until his hair was soaked and stuck to him. A harsh flash of piercing white light brightened up the courtyard if but for a single moment. The rumble of thunder came like the low bellow of the carnyx.

He took these things as if they fed him power.

“Six trees,” Owain mused.

The images of the letters that his great-grandfather had blessed him with stayed in his head.

“I shall always be worthy of Calybs.”

“Here’s the midwife, mistress,” Gytha whispered.

Leola opened her heavy eyes and stared up at the strange woman before her. She tried to speak but could not form any words, either Saxon or Latin.

She felt cool hands touching her neck and stomach.

“How old are you, Princess?” the midwife asked in Latin.

“Nigontienlic,” Leola moaned.

Gytha quickly translated. “Nineteen.”

“And this is your first labor?” the midwife asked.

Leola thought her head would split as she tried to speak in Latin.

“First pregnancy,” she moaned.

“I’m going to induce your labor,” she said.

“Too early.”

“About six weeks too early, I should think,” the midwife replied. “But if I don’t induce your labor, the babies could be hurt.”

Leola gasped.

That violent dread that something must be wrong, would go wrong, bubbled up inside of her, threatening to drown her in its waves.

“There, Princess,” the midwife said. “No fear now. You are young and strong. The babies have simply out grown their space. There is no more room for them to get bigger. I shall give you an herb and it shall hasten your labor.”

Leola heard the midwife giving orders to the assistants behind her to crush the herb and mix it with water. Yet her thoughts were now absorbed by one word the woman had said to her twice.

Babies?

“Babies?”
Leola moaned.

“Of course, there are two in there,”
came the midwife’s confident voice. “You have grown very big for only one child. Now drink.”

The rim of a cup touched Leola's lips, but when she tried to drink, she gasped and gulped.

“Slowly, Princess,” the midwife said. “Sip.”

The liquid was foul to smell and worse to taste. It burned her throat raw with every swallow. She gasped for air, short of breath, and coughed.

Am I going to die?

“Now just relax,” the midwife said. “In a moment you shall feel the contractions.”

Leola coughed again, and her stomach tightened at the movement of her diaphragm.

“Ugh!” Leola moaned. “It hurts!”

“A cool, wet, cloth for her forehead!” the midwife said to the servants. “Now, Princess, breath though the pain. Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out.”

Leola thought the waiting was forever, an eternity of suffering, bleeding, and the dread of what might happen.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, save my child and spare my life.

But she was in too much agony to make the sign of the cross.

She felt a damp cloth brush across her forehead, a little comfort amongst so much pain.

“Ugh!” Leola cried.

“Get her up,” the midwife said to her assistants. “Keep her head supported. There, Princess. You are doing fine. Keep breathing, Princess.”

Leola’s eyes squeezed shut and her whole face contorted in agony, as the muscles deep in her abdomen seemed to rip apart.

“Ugh!” she cried.

Owain thrust his sword through the neck of King Tudwal and into the firm truck of the oak tree. Just as the weapon stop, he felt the king’s iron armplate hard against his face.

There was a bright flash of light.

“Am I dead?” he asked himself.

And that was his last thought.

Chapter Thirty Four: New Life

Cold rain poured down on Britu as he dismounted at the steps of the castle. The stable hands rushed out to him to take his war pony into the safety of the barn, and Britu strode up to the front doors and went inside.

The front hall was warm from blazing fires. The servants took the prince's wet things from him and gave him a towel to dry his hair. Britu noted their solemn faces, and he felt an anxious hush had fallen over the whole house. His steps took him first to the sitting room where his uncle usually was. When he found it empty, Britu strode to the back of the house where the library was kept.

King Irael looked to be just as grave as the servants.

“The Meeting of the Circle went very well, Uncle,” Britu said.

“Good,” the king replied, absently.

“You are not curious to know how I conducted myself?” Britu asked with a mixture of amusement and fear over what could possibly be amiss.

“I am.”

But Britu realized that his uncle hardly heard his words.

“I rode all the way to Corin,” Britu said, in false irritation, “sat through a boring meeting with ten ungrateful lords, and rode back here in the storm to be with you, and all in one day. Now the least you can do is
greet me.”

“Leola is in labor.”

“But cannot be,” Britu said, knowing that her time could not possibly be due before the winter solstice.

“The baby has come very early,” King Irael replied, and his fear was plain in his husky voice.

For a moment Britu could not respond. He felt a stinging guilt for having given Leola so much emotional pain. Perhaps his angry words had caused her to start her labor. Britu doubted that his righteous indignation was worth risking his own cousin's child over. He should have remained silent, and now chided himself bitterly for his selfishness.

“So that is why the house is filled with hushed voices,” Britu replied, his own voice broken. “You should get some rest, Uncle. It may take all night.”

King Irael rubbed his face and head with his wide hands. “I won’t be able sleep, Britu,” he said. “So I attempt to read.” But he set aside his book with that thought.

“She is strong,” Britu said.

“To be sure. She is strong and gentle and has a kind heart. So pray for her.”

“I shall.”

Britu went to a far shelf and took up a board game that sat there.

“Here,” he said. “I shall set up the pieces.”

“I could do with a game of chess,” King Irael replied, his eyes brightening. “How are the Lords of Glouia?”

“Very eager to know when you shall be well again and return to them,” Britu said with a cynical grin.

The king laughed. “What did you say to them?” he asked.

“I told them that the king’s choices for the mayors of the Three Cities were completely separate from the ruling over Glouia.”

King Irael nodded in agreement. “And that has made many angry.”

“Those who are angry say it is an affront to Glouia,” Britu said, “and those who would not care then listen to the ranting until they too are angry over nothing,” Britu replied. “Soon, two angry becomes
four, and four changes to eight.”

“Everyone shall dispute the appointments!” the king cried.

Britu thought on Lord Eisu and how he had had his brother Prince Inam attempt to assassinate the king a mere two days before.

“But as you may well know,” he said, aloud, “the men who began the discord are those who wanted you to place one of their own men as mayor.”

“True, but I purposely did not do that, as it would grant some lords more power than others,” the king replied. “The point of the circle is so that each one is an equal and may voice his concerns without fear of retribution.”

“Some men do not wish to be equal,” Britu said. “They wish to dominate over their equals. Lord Eisu, who tried to murder you, wants his brother Prince Inam appointed Mayor of Ceri. He speaks his dissatisfaction in many ears, but if Prince Inam should become mayor, you know that they would band together against you.”

King Irael scowled. “I shall tend to Lord Eisu.”

“Put him on trial, Uncle,” Britu said, his voice hard and determined.

“No, no,” King Irael said. “That would be sure to bring open rebellion from the Dobunni. I do not want war.”

“You cannot allow him to continue causing trouble. He may create a war yet, and if he involves the other lords, the whole of Glouia may be ruined.”

“I have kept Glouia at peace for seventeen years,” the king replied. “I shall not change my ways because of Lord Eisu.”

“I know that you wish to save Glouia from war,” Britu said. “I know how you suffered greatly the last time this kingdom was torn apart by violence, but
I-”

“Do not talk about what you know not, Britu,” King Irael said. “That war could not have been avoided and my wife's death could not have been foreseen. But this circumstance, though dangerous, does not have to lead to violence. Therefore, I shall not allow it to.”