The Beast of Caer Baddan (59 page)

His thoughts traveled to the current war just won and the strange circumstances of it.

“There is a matter of importance that I must speak to you about, King,” Owain said.

“Of course,” King Erb said.
“But tomorrow. Tonight, I have prepared a feast for us. You are my guests.”

They went to the king’s meeting tent where a lush dinner was served, and ate, laughed, and talked, until well into the night.

“But this is quite an opportunity,” Swale said. “The soldiers are excited to have Owain returned. And we have lost few lives with this last battle. We should march into Dyfed and defeat the Deisi on their own fields.”

“I shall drink to that!” King Erb replied.

He downed his whole cup and held it out for his servant to refill.

“But surely there is no cause for such a display,” Britu said, his brow knotted in thought. “The Deisi are defeated, their champion dead, their king wounded. The threat they posed has ceased.”

“Well, to Britu!” Swale said, his voice filled with amusement and sarcasm, “Britu the peace maker.”

“Oh, stop,” Britu said.

“But think of defeating the Deisi at their own capital,” Annon said.

“Think of furthering your sparkling reputations,” King Erb said.

“Think of keeping them from ever attacking Gwent or any other kingdom again,” Swale said.

“You are thinking too personally, Swale,” Britu said. “Because the Deisi were a threat to Ewyas, you are willing to eradicate them.”

“They are a threat to all of Albion, not just to my father's kingdom,” Swale replied, irritated that his clansman was questioning his motives.

“It is not right,” Britu said.
“When I wished to do the same to the Gewissae nine months ago when they were a threat to Atrebat, you said not to be blood thirsty. They too were a bane to Albion, and a worse one even than the Deisi Eire are now.”

“I accept the rebuke, Clansman,” Swale replied.
“And am humbled by your words. I should not have criticized you.”

“Thank you, Clansman,” Britu replied.

“But I still stand by these words now. We should march into Dyfed.”

“What says the dominae to this?” Britu said, trying to direct the conversation away from
himself.

Owain felt their eyes burning into him, compelling him to speak.

“Last winter, we stayed in Brigantae land,” Owain said. “The soldiers were restless from being so long in the North Country. The supply routes were interrupted. We were cold for four long months. But it was necessary because of the Pictii threat. Here, we would be creating a war. The soldiers would be cold and living from tents when they could be warm and comfortable in their garrisons in the City of Gloui.  If the supplies should be stalled even with the short distance, we would rely on Gwent for food, and this land cannot feed this great a number of extra men. We cannot be sure of what we might gain by such an adventure. Shall we cross in and find storehouses of food? Or shall the Deisi burn anything they cannot carry so that we cannot use it? We have had the victory this day for bravery. Let us not find defeat tomorrow by foolishness.”

“But think of the Deisi women,” King Erb said.

Swale laughed and nudged Annon, who looked embarrassed by the implications. For now that he had fought in a battle, he could take a prisoner.

“My wife and children are with my father in Baddan,” Owain replied “They are waiting for me to return. Swale’s parents, and wife, and children are in Ewyas, expecting his arrival. Britu’s parents and sister are in Atrebat, and shall soon demand his attention. Nothing is gained by marching into Deisi land at the very start of the Month of Ianuarius. To the contrary, much is lost.”

“You are the dominae,” Swale replied, willing to give in.

They spoke of other things then, until Owain excused himself and went out towards his own tent.

The soldiers were dancing around the fires, laughing, and feasting on a winter’s slaughter of beef. Owain smiled at their fun, wishing that he was that carefree, but his heart was still heavy for his mother.

He felt that he had forgotten her and her sacrifice as he bemoaned himself his scars. He knew now that what he had always wanted from her was forgiveness. He wished for her to be proud of him and feel that her efforts were not in vain. He felt that she could see him through his struggles and the guilt of his action now weighted his shoulders because of that.

“Garrick!” a voice cried. “Get more water.”

Owain’s ear perked at the name. He turned around to see a boy about eleven, with shaved head and downcast blue eyes. A water bucket was in his hand, and a slave collar was fastened around his neck.

Owain put out a hand and caught the boy in his tracks.

“Garrick is it?” Owain said in Saxon.

The boy’s face swelled with fright, and his words were stammered as he tried to speak.

“Y-yea, good sir,” he said.

“Where are you from?” Owain asked.

“Anlofton, good sir,” the boy replied.

“What is your mother’s name?”

“Redburga, good sir.”

In an instant, Owain knew where he had heard that name, for Leola had spoken of her cousin just a few days before.

“Where are your elder brothers?” Owain asked.

The boy turned green from fright.

“Tell me where your brothers are,” Owain said. His voice became soft and gentle as he spoke.

“They’re dead!” the boy cried. “Their heads were cut off and thrown into a pit, and their bodies burned!”

“Garrick!” said a harsh voice.

Garrick jumped at the sound of his name.

Owain looked up to see Sir Vesanus coming up towards them.

“Prince Owain,” the knight said in a mixture of surprise and fear. He bowed. “I hope the boy is not bothering you, Dominae.”

“No worry of that, Sir Vesanus,” Owain said. “Your slave?”

“He is.”

“I shall give you a thousand denarii for him.”

“What?” Sir Vesanus cried, in shock. “You do not mean that, Dominae! The boy cannot be worth half that amount!”

“He’s worth that to me,” Owain replied, placing a protective hand on Garrick's shoulder.

“As you please, Dominae.”

“Thank you. I’ll send Leir to you with the money. God keep you.”

And he directed the boy away. 

Owain stood on the edge of camp, his eyes gazing out at the sliver of light that would soon be the dawn. He did not move when an even step came up behind him.

“And I believed myself to be an early riser,” came King Erb’s low bellowing voice.

“I always wake before sunrise,” Owain said.

He thought on how he hardly slept since he had returned to himself in the hermit’s tiny earthen hut.

“You wished to speak to me, Dominae?” King Erb asked.

“Why did the Deisi attack your land?” Owain asked.

“They are Eire,” the Silurae king said.

“The Eire battle when everyone else does,” Owain replied. “In spring, summer, and the very start of fall. This is winter. No one begins a war at the beginning of Ianuarius unless they absolutely must.”

“Perhaps they thought me weak at this time.”

“I have killed over a thousand soldiers, hundreds of knights and princes,” he looked into the man’s eyes, “and one king. You are my mother’s clansman, and for that I respect you, but do not think I shall allow you to disrespect my Army.”

“Of course not, Dominae,” the king replied, in haste. “It is the Demetae king’s daughter, Lady Gweldyr.”

This was the answer that Owain had expected, for in his heart, he knew that some unfortunate circumstance must be the root of this entire catastrophe.

“What about her?” he asked.

“I took her for my son Nynniaw,” King Erb replied.

Now Owain was truly amazed. Of all the utterly foolish things a king could do, surely this was monumental.

“You kidnapped a three-year-old girl,” he said, “for your three-year-old son.”

“I did not realize that the Deisi would see it as an affront!” the king cried. “Apparently, she was promised in secret to one of the Deisi princes.”

Owain looked out into the field, still white from the night’s new fallen snow. The blood and death of the battle was covered but not gone. It would never actually disappear.

“I had the numbers from Swale very late last night,” Owain said. “I have lost one hundred and seven soldiers, three knights, and fourteen war ponies, and all because you wish to find a wife for your son who cannot marry for twelve more years.”

“Forgive me, Dominae-”

Owain thought how silly and unnecessary the carnage was. Prior to his death, Owain would have executed King Erb in the name of the emperor for destroying the peace. But now, he knew that he himself was in need of pardon, and so being, he would forgive the foolish king.

“You must return Lady Gweldyr to her family today,” he said. “And you must pay the death price to each of the families of the knights.”

“Of course!” the king cried.
“Anything at all. I shall.”

“Good.”

Owain put his back to the Silurae king and walked to his tent.

Chapter Forty Eight: A Princess for the People

Gytha was doing Leola’s hair when the steward came in with news of a visitor.