The Dragon Prince

by Mary Gillgannon

  She moved around the room, serving each man, smiling cordially at them if they bothered to look at her. As always, some of the men cast admiring glances her way. They lusted for her, she knew. But they didn’t want to wed her, only take her for a leman.

  Her heart pounded faster as she approached Cerdic. He would take no notice of her. To him she was less important than his hunting hounds. She paused next to his huge, carved wooden chair. “Uncle,” she said in a trembling voice. “I would serve as hostage to the Britons, if you would wish it.”

  His head jerked around and his pale eyes regarded her with terrifying intensity. She wondered how any man dared face him in battle, so ruthless and paralyzing was his gaze. “You? Why would you do that?”

  She licked her lips and gave the speech she had rehearsed. “I want this truce to last. I am tired of war, of seeing everyone I care for die or be enslaved. I will do anything to bring peace.” Cerdic knew how much she abhorred battle and killing. Her words were heartfelt, even if they did not exactly tell the truth.

  He said nothing for a time, and neither did any other warrior in the room. The seconds passed, counted out in her heartbeats. Cerdic glanced around at his men, then back at her. “Leave us,” he said.

  She placed the tray on the table and walked out with as much poise and grace as possible. In the antechamber, she paused. If she were a dutiful, obedient niece, she would go to the kitchen and fetch more ale, instead of standing near the door and listening to them decide her fate. But years of being powerless had taught her to glean what knowledge she could.

  She could catch only bits and pieces of the discussion, but it was clear they viewed her suggestion favorably. “Close family member...” and “don’t have to give up a warrior.” and “Arthur... soft... might not kill a woman.” That was Cerdic speaking, making it clear that as hostage, her life would be in the hands of the Britons’ leader.

  Eastra took a deep breath. What if her scheming cost her life? If she was the hostage and Cerdic broke the truce, she would die. But surely Rhun would not allow that. He stood high in Arthur’s favor and he’d saved her life once already. Besides, would not dying almost be preferable to the life she lived now, as a princess in name and a nithing in fact? She had no future, nothing to look forward to except growing old. Never to marry, have a home of her own, bear a child—what sort of life was that?

  She squared her shoulders and hurried to the kitchen. When Cerdic sent for her to tell her his decision, she would have the ale ready.

  * * *

  “No! He can’t offer her as their hostage! It’s barbaric! What sort of man involves a woman in war?” Rhun paused to take an anguished breath. When he looked around the room, he saw Arthur and the rest of his fellow Britons were staring at him in shock. Across the table, Cerdic folded his arms across his chest and gave Rhun a look as cold as the north wind off the mountain peaks of Gwynedd.

  Bridei broke the stunned silence. “Obviously, Cerdic is a barbarian. That’s the whole point of exchanging hostages.” Then he turned to Cerdic and spoke in Saxon.

  “What did you say?” Rhun demanded when Bridei finished.

  “I told him you were displeased to have a woman involved in men’s business.”

  Rhun opened his mouth to angrily dispute Bridei’s comment but then remembered himself. Bridei was being diplomatic, explaining things so the Saxon savage would understand and not take offense. Besides, Rhun decided, seeking to calm himself, he should not have spoken out so emphatically. It was Arthur’s place to politely decline this ridiculous offer.

  Rhun looked to his commander. Arthur was frowning, which relieved him. He obviously did not like the idea of a female hostage any better than Rhun did.

  Arthur said, “I think this is a matter we must discuss in private.”

  Bridei translated for Cerdic, who nodded, then rose from the table, gesturing to his fellow warriors to do the same. He spoke in his guttural language and left the room, his thanes trailing after him.

  “How can we trust they won’t put a spy by the door to listen?” Cador asked angrily.

  “If they understand Briton, they already know what we think,” Bridei pointed out.

  “No, they know what Rhun thinks.” Cador turned to him, his face tight with resentment. “What was the point of that outburst? It’s not your place to discuss the terms of the truce with Cerdic.”

  “I’m sorry. I forgot myself,” Rhun said tightly. He disliked Cador. In his obsession with the cause of ridding Britain of the “heathen Saxons,” Arthur’s secondary commander had done many cruel and awful things. What was the point of saving Christian Britain, Rhun had more than once mused aloud, if a man lost his own soul doing it?

  “Rhun has a point,” Arthur said quietly. “But I actually think it works to our advantage. Cerdic’s proposal give us only one hostage as surety against his honoring the truce. That means we only have to offer up one ourselves.”

  “But we can’t accept a woman as hostage!” Rhun exclaimed. “What if Cerdic breaks the truce? Do you want to be the one to order her death?”

  “But she is his niece,” Bedwyr pointed out. “I can’t think he would willingly sacrifice his own kin.”

  His own kin, but worthless to him anyway, Rhun thought bitterly. Eastra had made it very clear that because she had been a slave, she was considered unmarriageable, and therefore useless in helping Cerdic form political alliances. But he could not say that. Then he would have to explain the circumstances of how he’d gained this information.

  Arthur stroked his jaw. “I take this as a sign Cerdic is serious about seeking a lasting peace. I must match his bold gesture with one of my own. I have no blood kin, save Mordred. What do you think of my offering him as our hostage?”

  No one spoke, but an uncomfortable tension filled the room. Mordred was unpopular with Arthur’s captains. Some of them even doubted the young man was really Arthur’s bastard son. All they had was Arthur’s stone-faced pronouncement it was true. Rhun could sense the other men weighing and analyzing Arthur’s proposal. If the truce were broken and Mordred killed, that would be one way to be rid of him.

  But Rhun felt he should argue against Arthur’s choice. Mordred was a cunning and slippery man. Putting him into the hands of the enemy seemed like a dangerous idea. But at least if the truce were broken, clever Mordred might be able to make some arrangement with Cerdic to save his own skin. And if Mordred did not die, Eastra was safe.

  Rhun’s stomach churned with anxiety at the thought of Eastra’s being a hostage. It was almost worse than her being a slave. But he didn’t think he could prevail against Arthur in this matter.

  “Mordred is in Londinium.” Arthur’s mouth twitched in disgust. “Probably wenching and dicing. I will send you, Bedwyr and Tristan, to fetch him. As soon as he’s here, the exchange will be made.”

  “And then what?” Cei asked. “Where will the woman be held?”

  “At Camlann with Guinevere?” Cador suggested.

  Arthur shook his head. “I don’t want to leave a large force there. So far, the Saxons haven’t seen fit to attack our settlements, but that could change if we make them too enticing as targets.”

  “Where, then?” Cei asked again.

  “It should be somewhere far enough away that Cerdic’s forces would have to travel a long distance through enemy territory to free her,” Bedwyr said.

  Arthur nodded.

  “I have an idea,” Bridei said. “What if we took her back to my father’s fortress in Gwynedd? Then the Saxons would have to journey all the way across Britain to claim her. Once in Gwynedd, they would be very conspicuous among the mostly dark-haired Cymry.”

  “And would your father accept responsibility for a hostage?” Arthur’s eyes glowed with bitterness. Rhun knew his commander had never gotten over Maelgwn’s refusal to join their cause. Since he had no fear of them taking over his territories and no quarrel with whatever gods they chose to worship, Maelgwn always said he saw no point in waging war agains
t the Saxons. Rhun also resented his father’s attitude but was powerless to influence him.

  Bridei shrugged. “I don’t think he would care one way or another. My father takes very little interest in politics these days.”

  Rhun shot his brother a hostile look. He wanted to argue against Bridei’s plan, but he could think of no good reason to oppose it.

  “An excellent suggestion.” Arthur nodded approvingly. “I will charge Rhun with the responsibility for taking her to his father’s fortress at Deganwy.”

  “Me?” Rhun exclaimed. “But don’t you need me with you, to fight if the truce doesn’t hold?”

  “I’ll expect you to return as soon as you have seen to the woman’s safety,” Arthur said.

  Rhun bit down hard, torn between conflicting emotions. He didn’t want Eastra to be the hostage. But if the thing was decided, perhaps it was better if he were the one to protect her. Unless the truce was broken and Mordred killed. A wave of dread washed through him. What would he do if his commander ordered him to kill her?

  He must not think about that, Rhun told himself. Cerdic must be at least partially sincere in his desire for peace, else he would not have agreed to the truce. Barbarian or not, he surely wasn’t so coldhearted as to allow his niece to be killed unless his enemy did something truly treacherous.

  Rhun was jerked from his thoughts when he heard Bridei say, “I will go with my brother. I can translate for them, since it’s doubtful the woman speaks the British tongue.”

  Rhun glared at his brother, wondering at his intentions in making this offer. To make trouble, no doubt. That seemed to be Bridei’s purpose in life.

  Arthur nodded. “Once this truce is arranged, I won’t need you as interpreter. And some other bard can be found to entertain the troops.”

  Bridei grinned broadly.

  Arthur sent a man to call the Saxons back into the meeting room. When the final details of the hostage exchange were arranged, the Britons left the settlement and went back to their camp. Although Rhun itched to speak to his brother and give him a piece of his mind, he had to remain with Arthur a while longer. They discussed what supplies and additional troops might be needed to transport a woman such a distance. Rhun convinced Arthur that a small party of experienced warriors would be sufficient to guard them. After all, he argued, they would be traveling through their own territories and not subject to attack. His real reason for declining a larger escort was because he didn’t want any of Arthur’s other officers around in case his previous acquaintance with Eastra came to light.

  Finally, Arthur dismissed him and Rhun went to find Bridei. He discovered him seated around a cookfire with several of the other men. “Ah, my brother,” Bridei said as Rhun approached. “Join us in celebrating the truce.” He held out a wineskin.

  “I would speak to you alone.”

  Bridei shrugged and stood up. He took a few more gulps from the wineskin then passed it to the man beside him. Rhun strode off into the darkness with Bridei trailing after him.

  “Aren’t you going to thank me?” Bridei chortled as soon as they were out of earshot of the others. “I’ve arranged for you to spend some time with your ladylove. And Gwynedd is clear on the other side of Britain. That should give you plenty of time to—”

  “Hush, damn you!” Rhun whirled around, his voice taut. “You know I’m not pleased with any of this. I don’t want her to be the hostage. It’s too dangerous. At least if she stayed in Cerdic’s camp, her life wouldn’t be at risk!”

  “But you said yourself she was unhappy here.”

  “Unhappy, aye, because she is held in poor regard by her own people. Now she is to be a hostage, and far away from anything familiar to her. It’s not much better than being Cerdic’s servant, or being a slave, for that matter!”

  “Ah, but with you as her captor, she might be content,” Bridei sniggered.

  “By the Cross, I’m sick of your disgusting innuendoes! You act as if I intend to bed her as soon as we are out of sight of Arthur!”

  “Well, don’t you? If you’re honest with yourself, that is.”

  “Of course not! I have more honor than that! I would never take advantage of any woman that way, let alone one under my protection.”

  “But what if she wants you to? I’m not blind, brother. I saw how she looks at you. She would lie with you in a heartbeat. You have only to find a safe—”

  “Stop!” Rhun grabbed his brother by the front of his tunic and gave him a violent shake. “I won’t have you impugning her virtue, you lewd, disgusting bastard!”

  “Hah! You see, I’m right! You wouldn’t get so angry if you didn’t care for her!”

  Rhun twisted the fabric of his brother’s wool tunic, wishing it was Bridei’s neck he was wringing. Then he realized the angrier he became, the more his brother would taunt him. The only way to deal with Bridei was to refuse to rise to his bait.

  Slowly, he loosened his grip. “I’m not like you,” he said coldly. “I do think about someone other than myself sometimes. There are a dozen reasons I cannot lie with the Saxon. But even if there weren’t so many arguments against it, I still wouldn’t do such a thing. She’s a princess of her people, not a whore or serving girl. The only man fit to take her to bed is the one who takes her to wife.”

  “But you said she is unlikely to be married because of her years as a slave.”

  Rhun took a deep breath. For every argument he came up with, clever Bridei would find one to refute it. Already, he could feel a part of himself weakening. Eastra had said herself it was doubtful she would ever wed. Why should she not know some happiness in life? If she truly wished for him to love her...

  Nay, he could not think like that. She might want him now, then hate herself later. Besides, he had a duty to Arthur’s cause. His commander would expect better of him than to become involved with a hostage.

  He shook his head. “My vow to Arthur must come before everything else.”

  “Of course,” Bridei said, still grinning.

  Chapter 3

  Eastra placed the gold and garnet necklace around her neck, then lifted the polished bronze mirror to gaze at her reflection in the lamplight. The dozens of stones in the heavy piece shone like drops of blood. Sighing, she lowered the mirror. Her plan had succeeded but even so her stomach fluttered with anxiety. What if she were wrong about Rhun ap Maelgwn and he cared nothing for her? She was delivering herself into the hands of the enemy, and, having heard many tales of the Britons’ ruthlessness and barbarity, she was more than a little uneasy. Cerdic was right. She must go to them in all her splendor, decked in jewels and finery, so they would know she was valuable to him and that if she were abused or wronged in any way, he would avenge her most cruelly.

  Of course he would avenge her, she thought bitterly. Not because he cared for her as his kin, a living, breathing woman, but because she was a symbol of his pride and power. She had been reduced once again to being an object, a piece of property. Which was the reason she was doing all this. She believed that to Rhun ap Maelgwn, she was more than an object, that he saw her as a woman and cared for her feelings.

  But what if she assumed too much? What if he had no real interest in her? It had all happened so fast. She’d had no time to tell him about her plan and watch his reaction. And now she was trapped, trapped in a plot of her own making. She adjusted her best gunna, smoothing the saffron-colored fabric embroidered with flowers on the bodice and sleeves, then left her sleeping chamber.

  When Mordred arrived from Londinium, the hostage exchange took place in the open area outside the Saxon fortress. A faint queasiness spread through Rhun’s stomach as he watched Arthur’s bastard son walk to meet the enemy. Mordred moved easily, almost nonchalantly. His lean, graceful build reminded Rhun of Bridei. Like Bridei, Mordred had a cunning, handsome face that appealed to women, but made men wary.

  Rhun had observed the meeting between Arthur and his son the night before. Mordred had behaved in his usual manner, mocking and scornful of h
is father, his words edged with sarcasm and hostility. And yet he’d agreed to serve as hostage. Even he could not defy the high king of Britain. But what sort of hostage would he be? Could they trust him not to conspire with the enemy? Arthur seemed sure of his son. Maybe he had some sort of hold over him no one else knew about. Rhun hoped so.

  As Mordred reached the Saxon contingent, Rhun saw Eastra step forward, staring straight ahead. A bodyservant leading a heavily laden packhorse followed behind her. With the rich buttery shade of her gown and the heavy gold jewelry at her neck, her fair skin and silvery-blond hair, she was as dazzling as the sunrise. Rhun heard the other men’s indrawn breaths and knew a moment of fierce possessiveness. He would keep her safe! No man would touch her!

  But by what right did he claim the role of her protector? Was it because Arthur had charged him with the responsibility, or because he felt in some way she already belonged to him? A dangerous notion, and one that could easily lead him to disaster. He must not forget his allegiance to his commander, the solemn oath he had sworn. That oath must come before any feelings he had for Eastra.

  Now she was walking directly towards him. He frowned and shook his head faintly, trying to indicate it was Arthur she must present herself to. Gradually, she shifted course and approached the high king with a cool, regal grace. Arthur greeted her with a bow, then said, “Princess Eastra, no matter what you may have heard about us, we are not crude savages. As long as Cerdic honors the truce, I promise you will be safe and well cared for.”

  Bridei, standing a little behind Arthur, immediately translated his words into Saxon. Eastra looked puzzled, and Rhun wondered if she had not realized the implications of being a hostage and was unsettled by the threat implicit in Arthur’s words. But then she spoke in clear Briton, and he understood what had confused her. “I speak your language,” she said. “I have no need for anyone to translate for me.”