The Beast of Caer Baddan (70 page)

One of the window shutters crept open and a cautious face peered out at him.

“Greeting,” Owain said in Saxon. “Are you Redburga, Leola’s aunt?”

“Yea...” she replied, as if unsure whether she should admit to it or not.

“I am Owain, her husband.”

“The aetheling?” Redburga asked.

“Yea.
I am the Aetheling of Glouia.”

For a moment she seemed too in awe to speak.

“So you really are an aetheling?” she said, as if unsure whether she should believe him.

“Yea, I am,” puzzled by her questions.
“My father is Irael Cyning of Glouia.”

“
Wh- What do you want?”

“I wish to see if you were well,” he replied.

“Oh, I am very well. I thank you, good aetheling,” she replied.

Owain thought it best not to press her for any conversation, and she seemed unwilling to offer him any.

“Fare you well, then,” he said.

“Fare you well, Aetheling,” she replied.

As he walked back to Annon and the knights, Owain saw a man in the garden across the way, kneeling in the plants and looking through them at him. The man seemed an ordinary Gewissae commoner, nervous for seeing Britannae princes and knights in his village. There was nothing about him to notice, and yet something deep within Owain compelled him to speak.

“You,” Owain said, calling out to him. “Raynar, is it not?”

The man came to his feet in an instant.

“Y-y-yea-” he said, his tanned face filled with fright.

“I am Owain Irael-son, Aetheling of Glouia,” Owain said. “I am Leola’s husband.”

Raynar's eyes went wide with shock, and then his lips trembled and his hands shook for fear. He seemed stiff where he stood, paralyzed for fear.

“Are you married?” Owain asked.

“Y-yea, Aetheling,” Raynar could not seem to gain his tongue.

“To Drudi?” Owain asked, thinking of the name of Leola's friend.

“H-
how did you know?” Raynar gasped in horror.

“I know everything,” Owain said, narrowing his eyes at him. “I am the monster that haunts your dreams. That waits for you in the darkness.”

Owain thought Raynar would faint from fear, and that idea gave him a great deal of pleasure. He wished to cut off the man's head, but his promise to Leola stayed his hand. Besides, Owain reasoned that the village had seen enough tragedy.

“Your wife is young and innocent I hear,” Owain continued. “See that you treat her well.”

“Y-y-yea, Aetheling,” Raynar gasped.

Owain turned his back on him and walked to the center of the road to where Annon, the knights, and his mount were waiting for him. A disdainful smile played on his lips.

It did not take long for Owain to discover the place where the boys of Anlofton had attacked their captors. He found the ashes and scattered bones from their bodies' sorry end far off to the west of the path.

“Dig a whole,” Owain said to the servants. “Put ever human part you find inside of it.”

He then walked the other way passed the dirt road and over onto the west side. His skilled eyes searched for the pit that contained the most scared part of the body.

“What are you looking for, Prince?” Annon asked, coming to his side.

“The heads,” Owain replied.

“Why?” Annon asked.

Owain looked on him with a patient eye. Although not a clansman, Owain felt that the boy was the closest he had to a brother. He wanted Annon to learn a little of life.

“The boys of Anlofton were killed and their heads removed,” Owain explained. “I am going to burn the heads and thus release the boys' spirits to their ancestors.”

Annon was silent and seemed to contemplate these words.

“But why do that?” he asked. “What is the point? They are just commoners and your enemies.”

“Annon,” Owain replied. “The right thing to do is more often making peace where there is war then it is winning a war. Here, the boys have suffered needlessly. Our forefathers taught us that the spirit cannot be released if the head is removed from the body. The bodies were destroyed and thus must be the heads, so that the boys may be at peace.”

Owain saw where the earth was raise up to form a sort of hallow mound. There within, with branches and leaves half covering, laid the skulls of a dozen boys. Owain knelt down before it, crossed himself like his mother had always done, and then said a prayer.

As his gazed over the grave site, he noticed the protruding foot of a Roman style boat. It was the kind that the Britannae knights wore. Simple and well made, with fine leather, and having nails protruding from the bottoms.

Owain knew that it was not one of his own knights, for Swale would have mentioned a death to him after the battle of Holton. He decided that it must belong to an Atrebatae.

“Bring me leaves,” Owain said.

The knights filled the pit to overflowing with leaves, twigs and grass,
then they set it ablaze.

Owain watched the fire consume what was left. When it had burned out, the knights pushed the sides of the mound inward to bury the bones.

“And their spirits are released?” Annon asked.

“I believe so,” Owain replied.

He was not really sure if they were or not, but knew that his heart felt more at peace now that it was done.

“Come,” he said. “Let us go to Pengwern, for the Army must be there by now. Then we shall make our way back to Caer Gloui.”

“Owain Aetheling!” a voice cried.

Owain looked up to see young Garrick running towards them. The knights sprang forward to block the boy's way, halting him in his track. Garrick's face went white with fear.

“Let him come,” Owain said, to the knights. And then he spoke in Saxon to Garrick, “What is it?”

“Could you tell Leola something for me?” the boy asked. “Could you tell her that I found it?”

“Found what?” Owain asked.

“Found what she wanted me to find,” Garrick replied.

“Very well,” Owain said, with a smile. “I shall tell her.”

“I thank you, Aetheling,” the boy said.

With an awkward bow he was off, up the road back towards the village.

Owain felt the cleansing sense of hope and peace with the boy. The Gewissae would rise again, but this time they would be allies to the Britannae.

Chapter Fifty Seven: To Heal and To Kill

Leola was determined to heal from child birth.

No sooner had Owain departed from Glouia that she wrapped a large shawl around her, picked up a basket, and left the castle. Her resolute steps took her down the road she had walked many months before when she sought to escape Queen Severa's horrible tongue. She found the sloping tree where she had laid her head and where King Irael had told her stories of his own former days.

The field beyond was wild and untouched and Leola set to work immediately to find the best herbs. Many she knew by sight but did not recall their names, yet if they were for closing wounds and soothing bruises, she picked all she could until her basket was full.

Then something caught the corner of her eye and beckoned her.

It was a large flowering shrub about as tall as she was and the shape of a large ball. She was sure that she had seen that kind of plant a hundred times before and had even gone hunting for it with Drudi when she lived with her aunt and cousins in Anlofton.

Hawthorn.

Leola did not understand why but she felt compelled to pick its leaves and blooms. She could not think of a reason to put them in her bath, for she did not think that the hawthorn was associated with healing the external body. Yet as the feeling persisted, Leola gave in and took handfuls of the luscious plant.

It is good for something, if only I could remember what.

When Leola returned to the castle she gave the basket of herbs to Gytha with instructions to add them to her bath water in the evening. Leola set the hawthorn down on the table in her outer room and went back to the front hall to find King Irael.

Raised voices coming from the first sitting room, called her attention to it.

“Really, King Nwython,” King Irael said. “There is no need for this.”

He looked on the King of Colun with a kindly eye, but the Trinovanti ruler was furious and would not be appeased.

“You have no idea the shame and humiliation this brings to my tribe,” King Nwython said. “A Gewissae, and a commoner at that, his wife.”

“Leola conducts herself as a proper princess,” King Irael replied. “I doubt anyone notices that she is a commoner. Do not concern yourself with appearances.”

“I do and I must,” King Nwython said. “Prince Owain caused a Trinovanti lady to conceive and failed to marry her, and now he keeps a commoner Gewissae as a wife.”

“Owain refusing to marry that Trinovanti woman is its own issue,” King Irael said. “The lady was herself controversial. And I recall you fully supporting his decision.”

“I did,” King Nwython said. “Yet with the expectation that he would marry a woman suitable to his status and position. A king's daughter or a lord's daughter at least. Not some nobody barbarian.”

“King Nwython-”

“No, no,” the Trinovanti king replied. “I have made a stand. I shall not go back on it. As Father Vitalius has shown his support of this marriage, I'm taking my son back to Colun.”

“Removing him from the bishop's care?” King Irael was horrified at the thought. “But you interrupt the boy's studies!”

“I cannot allow my young Vitalinus to think that is it acceptable for the Trinovanti people to be pushed aside for foreigners,” King Nwython said. “My mind is made up. And if you do not wish for other kings to follow my example, I suggest that you take to hiding that Gewissae girl, so that she does not embarrass you.”