The Beast of Caer Baddan (71 page)

The door was pulled wide open, and King Nwython stormed into the front hall, almost running into Leola. He seemed surprised to see her, yet recovering his indignation, he went around her and stomped out of the castle.

Leola was still, not knowing what to say or do.

Shall the other kings shun Owain because of me?

“Leola?” came King Irael's faint voice.

She looked up into the sitting room to see the king slummed down into his chair. His face was ashen white.

“Father!” Leola cried.

She ran to him and took his shaking hands.

“Father, what is it?” she asked.

“Ah,” he moaned.
“My heart. It is always my heart. It gives me no rest.”

She saw the pain and torment in his green eyes.

“Send for the healer?” she asked, thinking of the last autumn when the king had trouble with his heart before.

“No,” King Irael replied. “It shall pass.”

He laid a gentle hand on her face and stroked her cheek.

“Everything shall pass, Daughter,” he said. “But my line shall continue on, thanks to you.”

“The kings are unhappy with Owain because of me,” Leola said, sadly.

To her shock, King Irael started to laugh through the pain in his chest.

“The Kings of Albion shall never shun Owain for any reason,” he said. “They need him too desperately. He fights their wars, beats their enemies, and protects their people. They would not dare shun him. Not for his wife or anything. And if Euginius and Ambrosius are half the warriors that Owain is, they too shall be praised and valued, regardless of their mother's birth. Do not worry about the rulers. King Nwython is an arrogant fool, who shall lead his young sons to worse evil then he ever committed if he should persists in his stupidity.”

King Irael let out a long sigh.

“Father,” she said.

“I am only so wary for this troubled heart,” he moaned. “Soon I shall rest with my ancestors, and Owain shall king.”

“No!” Leola cried. “What would I do without you?”

The king laid a gentle hand on her face.

“For one thing, you would stop worrying about me,” he teased.

Leola laughed at that, but her mind was soon consumed with the horrible thought of his impending death.

Later that day as Leola was preparing to take the babies to the sitting room, she spied the hawthorn on one of the small tables in her outer room.

“Hawthorn!” she screamed.

“Mistress?” Grytha asked.

“The hawthorn,” Leola said, with a merry laugh. “I just remembered what it was for. I knew it was not for external injuries. You take it for menstrual trouble, stress, and heart ailments.”

“You do?” Gytha asked, amazed by Leola's knowledge.

“Yea.
Take it to the kitchen,” Leola said. “Tell the cooks to crush it, heat it in water, and strain it into a cup.”

She scooped up a handful of the leaves and flowers and gave them to the girl.

“Then bring it to me in the sitting room.”

“Yea, Mistress,” Gytha replied.

The babies played on the rug at Leola's feet, and Gratianna snuggled into King Irael's side, as the king restrung her harp.

“Well?” the king said to Leola.

“What?” she said innocently.

“You have been making sly little faces at me this half hour,” King Irael said. “What is it you are thinking?”

Leola laughed, for she had not realized she was so transparent.

“I have a surprise for you, Father,” she said.
“When it is ready.”

It was not long after that when Gytha entered the sitting room and handed Leola a cup of bitter tea.

“Drink,” Leola said, handing the cup out to King Irael.

“What is that?” the king asked. “It smells foul.”

“It is hawthorn,” Leola replied. “It heals the heart. Now drink it.”

“I hate hawthorn!” the king protested. “Can we not wait until the plant has haw-berries and make them into new wine?”

“And what would be the medical purpose of that?” Leola asked, bewildered.

She now realized why the healer did not cure the king. The poor man could hardly force the ruler of the whole kingdom to take his medicine. King Irael simply obeyed until the danger had passed and then resumed his former diet and habits, without any consideration to the healer's advice.

But Leola was not a servant or a subject to cower to the king. She was his daughter and would not listen to his silly protests.

“If six trees can give Owain power, then surely one shrub can give power to you,” Leola replied. “Now drink it.”

King Irael took the cup and stared at the horrible liquid within.

“Drink,” Leola said.

The king held his breath and gulped down the tea. His face contorted as if he was consuming the most revolting drink ever imaginable.

Gratianna burst into laughter.

“You look funny, Grandfather!” she squealed.

“Just you see when you have grown children who think they know what it best for you,” the king said, in mock threats.

“I do know what is best for you, Father,” Leola replied, laughing. “Not dying.”

“Oh?” the king said. “I am not allowed to die now, am I?”

“We need you too much, Grandfather,” Gratianna said.

The king handed the child back her harp and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

“Then I suppose I should stay a little longer,” he replied.

Leola breathed a sigh of relief.

As the weeks passed, Leola made the king drink hawthorn tea four times a day. At first neither of them could tell if there was any improvement in his condition. But soon he felt the pressure in his chest decrease and thought he had less pain after he ate. Leola noticed that he began to relax more and did not grip at his chest the way he used to.

She had cured Ambrosius from his mysterious sickness, Owain from his melancholy, and now very slowly, King Irael from his heart trouble. Leola knew that she too would soon be healed from her labor and ready for Owain when he returned.

One stormy evening, Leola felt restless and worrisome and could not think why.

Something is wrong
.

She rose from her bed and slipped the knife out from between the mattress and bed frame. Thus armed, she opened up the door connecting her bedroom with the nursery. The babies and their nurses were sound asleep in spite of the turbulent whether.

She closed the door and opened the other that led into the outer room.

The room was still but for a faint breeze from one of the windows. The air seemed to chill her heart and soul. Leola looked on the window in dismay, as a cloaked figure of a man stepped from its shadow.

“You,” the man said in surprise. “I know you. From Holton.”

He spoke in Latin with an assurance that seemed to attest to his words. As he came closer to Leola, the light from the hearth fell on his face and she realized that she too recognized the man.

Cadfan Aetheling!

She remembered the Britannae prince who had come to Holton and visited the earlmann a few weeks before the feast. She wondered what role he had played in the war that left her town in ruins. Even more, she could not fathom any legitimate business he now had in her rooms.

“Leola is it not?” he asked. “For I heard that was your name.”

“It is,” she replied, her voice faint. “How did you get in here? There are far more guards now than ever.”

“It is nothing to a prince,” the man said. “I have had far better training then the petty guards and know how to slip past them.”

Leola thought on what Owain had said about a prince learning to defend
himself and suspected that better training had made the most powerful men also the hardest to defeat.

Her heart pounded hard in her breast, as fear and dread mixed together so perfectly in one horrible moment.

What had Owain said of killing a prince? One must get very close and then strike quickly from below.

The knife was at her side hidden from the prince's view, but she was unsure of her own ability. Could she kill this man? Did she dare attempt it?

“You are a Gewissae,” the man said. “A prisoner, a slave, to these Andocos.”

Leola could feel the cold metal secure around her neck as if she was still wearing the slave collar.

“What of it?” she asked, her voice turning to short gasps.

“Ah,” the man said. “I shall not hurt you. I am Cadfan King of the Dumnonni. I too have a grievance against the Andoco.”

King Cadfan! The man Owain went to the land of the Dumnonni to visit?

“What is that?” Leola asked.

“They burned Caer Dore to the ground and murdered my grandfather.”

Leola was silent, watching him.

“Prince Owain also killed my uncle King Tudwal,” King Cadfan continued. “My clan, the Isca, have a long list of ills suffered because of the Andoco.”

“What would you do?” Leola asked.

He came closer to her, and she could see his soft eyes and the freckles on his face.

“Prince Owain wanted an heir,” King Cadfan replied. “Take the children away, and he shall go mad with grief, until
he and his father both waste to nothing. You and I shall be free from them. Our people free from them.”

“I see,” Leola replied.

She thought that he sensed her apprehension, for he stepped closer still and stroked the side of her cheek. She trembled at the touch.

“Do not waste your lovely self on their tyranny,” he whispered. “They are villains, all of them. Let me set you free from them. Let me save you.”

Leola gave a slow nod of her head, than caught his arm with her empty left hand.

“Be quick,” she said, her voice fluttering, “For they are my sons too.”

“They shall not feel anything,” he promised.

His left arm was up, and his right was at the other side of himself, leaving the side of his body open for attack.

Leola struck.

She jabbed the knife hard into his side, cutting through the wool vest and sticking deep into his flesh. Just as she stabbed him, she pulled the knife upwards, ripping his body wide open. The knife jammed on his ribcage, before Leola pulled it out and struck again.