The Dragon Prince

by Mary Gillgannon

  “Jesu.” She heard Rhun swear, and knew he had also guessed what they had come upon. “Eastra,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know this was here. I was merely taking the most direct route.”

  Eastra shook her head, unable to respond. Every patch of green made the gorge rise in her throat. Was there a body hidden in the tall vegetation? The crumbling skeleton of one of her people? A child or a woman left to lie where they were butchered?

  She glanced around, blinking away tears. Not all of the longhouse had burned, and she could still see its faint rectangular shape in the tall grass. And the furrows of the grainfields, abandoned for a season or more, were still discernible.

  “It looks like there was a village here,” Bridei said. “I wonder what happened?” His voice came to Eastra’s ears as if from far way.

  “They were burned out, probably by a British patrol,” Rhun answered.

  “Saxons?” Bridei asked.

  “Aye. You see where the longhouse was? And the way they plowed their fields in straight, even lines? Unmistakably Saxon.”

  “What happened to the people?” Bridei asked.

  “Eastra,” Rhun said. “Do you want to stop?”

  She shook her head violently, the tears blinding her.

  “I’m sorry,” Rhun said again. “I wish you didn’t have to see this. If it helps any, know that these days Arthur forbids his patrols to kill women and children. The tribe that once lived here probably moved north, or nearer to the coast.”

  “Do you truly believe that?” she asked in a shaking voice.

  Rhun sighed. “I want to, but I cannot promise it’s true.”

  At last they reached the edge of the ruined settlement. Eastra took a deep breath, torn between conflicting emotions. Seeing the cruel handiwork of the Britons made her feel like a traitor to her people. Why had she have willingly offered herself as a hostage? How could she have deliberately chosen the company of her enemies?

  She glanced at Rhun. His face looked grieved, his jaw set with grim resignation. It had disturbed him to see the lingering aftereffects of bloodshed and war. Did it remind him of when he rescued her? That day he had not been part of the senseless slaughter, but instead had hid her from his fellow soldiers and carried her to safety. Her anger faded. He had saved her life. He was not like his countrymen. She could not believe he was.

  They rode on. Although some of the luster had gone from the day, Eastra felt her turmoil easing. She was here because she wanted to be here. With Rhun. He was like no man she had ever known. She could not let him vanish from her life once again. She urged her mount closer to his. “How long will we stay in Londinium?” she asked.

  “A few days. It depends on how long it takes to purchase supplies.”

  “What sort of things will you buy?”

  Rhun didn’t immediately respond to her question. He gave Bridei a look, and Bridei answered. “We will purchase wine, of course. And perhaps Samian ware, leather goods, and fabric. We can get those things from the merchant ships that sometimes come to Deganwy, of course. But the quality and selection will be better in Londinium.”

  “But if we buy wine and pottery, we’ll have to have a cart to transport it in,” Rhun said, frowning. “I don’t want to be slowed down with a baggage vehicle. I say we buy nothing too heavy or cumbersome, nothing that can’t be carried on a packhorse.”

  “Whatever you wish,” Bridei said. “How we travel to Gwynedd is up to you.”

  Eastra saw Rhun’s jaw tighten. She wondered what had angered him. Was it simply that his brother rubbed him the wrong way? The two of them always seemed to be disagreeing.

  After a time, Rhun pulled his mount to a halt and pointed to a tall stone marker in the distance. “There’s a mile marker for the old Roman road. We can follow it all the way to Londinium.”

  They rode to where he pointed. There, glinting white as bleached bone, was a broad, level stone trackway. “The going will be easier now,” Rhun said. “The Romans built their roads well. See, the pavement has hardly crumbled even in the hundred years since the legions left.”

  “It must have taken many, many slaves to build this,” Eastra said as they set off down the road, the horses’ hooves echoing loudly on the stones.

  “It wasn’t built by slaves, but by the troops themselves,” Rhun answered. “The Romans were disciplined men. Their footsoldiers knew how to dig and build as well as fight. It was part of what made them so successful. They would conquer a territory, then immediately build up forts and settlements to secure it before moving on. Once all these things were in place, it was almost impossible for the native people to defeat them. Then the Roman soldiers intermarried with the local women, and before you knew it, the conquered tribes had become like the conquerors, seduced to the pleasures of Roman living.”

  “Is that what happened to the Britons?” Eastra asked.

  “For the most part,” Rhun answered. “My people, living up in the wild highlands, never really adopted Roman ways. And there were other tribes, scattered here and there, who retained the speech and livelihood and ways of their ancestors. When the legions left and the first wave of barbarians washed over Britain, many of those who called themselves citizens of Rome were killed or driven from the country. That left us, the original tribes of Britain, to defend it.”

  “The barbarians? Is that how you speak of my people?” Eastra asked.

  “Those first invaders were barbarians. They didn’t come to settle the land, but to rape and pillage and slaughter. They didn’t bring their womenfolk or their families. They came and took what they could carry in their boats and destroyed the rest, and then they left.” Rhun gave her a look of helplessness. “It was over a hundred years ago, long before our time, or even that of our grandsires. The Saxons and Jutes and all those seafaring warriors from the lands across the eastern sea, they especially liked to attack the priories and holy places, and that set the Christians against them. They have always denounced the invaders as savage men who worship foul, bestial gods.”

  “Do you think I’m a barbarian?” Eastra asked.

  “Of course not! Nor do I think that of your uncle, Cerdic. I have seen how your people live, the exquisite jewelry, the woven goods and furniture your artisans craft, the order of your households, the efficiency of your farming techniques. In many ways I admire your people, and think there is much we Britons can learn from them.”

  “But you believe we worship foul, bestial gods,” she pointed out sourly.

  Rhun shrugged “Many of my people worship gods and goddesses other than the Christos. At one time, that bothered me a great deal. But I have gradually come to terms with it. I no longer think it matters so much what god a man or woman calls holy, but what is in their heart, what sort of person they are. I have known Christians who have done vile things, things at least as bad as any barbarian. And then there is my stepmother, a devotee of the Great Goddess, and one of the kindest and wisest people I’ve ever known.”

  “Besides.” Bridei joined the conversation. “If he thought you were a bestial barbarian, he would never have rescued you all those years ago.” He lifted his dark brows knowingly.

  Eastra looked at Rhun. She was surprised he’d told his brother about that incident, especially given the tensions between them. In a way, it troubled her, as if he had shared a secret that was supposed to be between the two of them.

  “I had to tell him,” Rhun said, as if guessing her thoughts. “Otherwise he would have pestered me relentlessly, or started asking questions of the other men.” He shot Bridei a hostile look.

  “What have I done now?” Bridei demanded. “Here I am, trying to help you win over this woman, to convince her you are not like most Britons. I’m certain she has heard many awful tales about our race—that we are monsters who eat Saxon children for breakfast.” He looked at Eastra expectantly.

  She nodded. “The most horrifying tale I was told is that the Christians have a ritual where you drink blood and eat human flesh.”
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br />   Rhun gave her a shocked look. “That’s not true! Only wine and bread are consumed during the Sacrament. The blood and flesh are merely symbolic of our Lord’s sacrifice.”

  “Still, you must admit, it sounds gruesome,” Bridei said. “Savage enough to frighten the barbarians themselves.”

  “I know now that it’s not true,” Eastra said. “But when I was a child—well, you can imagine how much we feared and hated the British.”

  “And yet, when I rescued you that day, you came to me willingly,” Rhun said softly. “Why did you have dare to trust me with your life? How did you know I wasn’t going to ‘eat you for breakfast,’ as Bridei put it?”

  “I saw something in your eyes. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  They stared at each other. Eastra could feel the emotion welling up inside her. She had trusted this man with her life all those years ago. And in this moment, she gave him the rest of her heart.

  Although it was difficult, Rhun forced himself to tear his glance away. When Eastra looked at him like that, he felt all his will, all his reason, slipping away. It was as if Bridei and the other men didn’t even exist, as if it were only the two of them in the world, their souls touching.

  It was sort of an enchantment, he thought uneasily as they rode on down the Roman road. A dangerous enchantment. He had to remember his duty, his purpose in being with this woman. She was a hostage, Cerdic’s kinswoman. Although every fiber of his being told him he could trust her with his life, he dared not succumb to his feelings. Reason said she might be a spy for her uncle, using her beautiful face, her sweet, guileless countenance, to pry secrets from him.

  He must be on his guard. Damn, it was difficult! Especially with Bridei around, talking easily and comfortably, as if they were on a pleasant ride with one of their sisters in the mountains of Gwynedd, rather than on a sensitive diplomatic mission, accompanied by a woman who was kin of their fiercest enemy!

  She had some hostility toward the Britons, that was obvious. He’d heard the anger in her voice when she spoke of how his people had slaughtered hers, seen her face change and grow remote and stricken as they passed the burned-out Saxon hamlet. Although he believed she truly cared for him, that she wouldn’t do anything to hurt him personally, her resentment and hostility toward his people might still cause her to undermine the cause he fought for.

  He wanted to curse aloud. Bridei had entangled him in this wretched mess. If not for Bridei, Arthur might have appointed some other man to guard Eastra. Of course, then he would always worry how she was being treated. What he truly wished was that Arthur had refused to accept her as hostage altogether. There should have been no question that a woman was not acceptable, even if she were Cerdic’s kinswoman. Why had Arthur done it? Because it gave him a chance to offer up Mordred as his own hostage? An opportunity to get his troublesome son out of the way?

  Rhun repressed a sigh. No point agonizing over what was already done. He must get through this the best he could. Keep Eastra safe, accomplish their mission, make the long journey to Gwynedd—and all the while, try not to lose his heart to his captive. It was going to be the most difficult fortnight of his life.

  “What would you like to purchase in Londinium?” Bridei asked Eastra after they had ridden in silence for some distance. “Is there some luxury item you’ve always coveted? Perhaps a finely-made necklace to wear around your slender white throat? Or a length of silk cloth to make a gown that matches your sky blue eyes?”

  She smiled at his flattering words. “I brought no coin with me, so if I did find something I liked, I wouldn’t be able to buy it anyway.”

  “Oh, but Arthur has given us plenty of gold to defray our expenses on this journey. I’m sure he would not begrudge you some of it. After all, Arthur did advise us to treat you with all the respect and honor due a princess. For that matter”—Bridei gestured to Rhun—“I’m certain my brother would gladly purchase anything you desire. So you might as well be thinking of what you would like, something you could not obtain in your own territories.”

  “I will do that,” Eastra said, laughing. Then she looked at Rhun and, seeing his somber face, wondered what troubled him. Had his brother’s teasing brought on his dour mood, or something else? Only a short while before he had looked at her with a tenderness that took her breath away. Now he seemed distant and wary.

  She focused her gaze on the road ahead of them, wondering whether things were going to be like this the whole way across Britain.

  As they neared Londinium, they began to see farmsteads here and there. Most were in the traditional British style of thatched timber buildings enclosed within a thorn hedge. But some had rough stone buildings, the masonry obviously salvaged from some ruined villa nearby. Although pigs rooted in the ferny ground of the forestlands and shaggy cattle and golden white sheep grazed in the meadows, they saw few people. It seemed likely they were in hiding.

  But gradually, they met other travelers on the road—a black-bearded, red-nosed tinker with a cartload of goods, a farmer and his family with a wheelbarrow full of cabbages and a handcart piled high with leeks, turnips, and other vegetables, a pair of holy brothers on mules. The travelers they met regarded them with suspicion at first, but when Rhun greeted them cordially, they seemed to relax. As they passed them, one of the holy men urged his mule close to Rhun and asked for news.

  Rhun told him of the truce with Cerdic. The man—who had a fiery red tonsure and fierce dark eyes—nodded in satisfaction. “I’m glad to hear there might be peace for a time. I have traveled much of Britain this past year, preaching of Our Lord and ministering to the sick and downtrodden. I have found suffering and devastation everywhere. Near as bad, some people say, as when the Saxons raided and burned a hundred years before.”

  “Where are you headed now?” Rhun asked.

  “From Londinium I hope to find a merchant ship to take me to Gaul. From there I travel to Rome. If you have no objection, Brother Anselm and I would like to follow behind your troop the rest of the way into the city. I’m certain I will encounter other dangers on my pilgrimage, but I would as lief not be killed by marauding Saxons before I even cross the eastern sea.”

  “Have you seen many Saxons in your travels?” Rhun asked.

  The brother shook his head. “No warriors. Only traders, old men, women, and children. You can always tell they are Saxons because of their coloring.” His gaze moved to Eastra, probing and hostile. “Speaking of which, I might ask you, young warrior, why does one of Arthur’s soldiers travel with a woman of the enemy close at hand?”

  Rhun opened his mouth, but it was Bridei who answered, “She’s a prisoner,” he said smoothly. “We’re taking her to the slavers market in Londinium.”

  Rhun made a faint outraged sound and Eastra felt her cheeks grow hot. But the holy brother nodded in satisfaction. “No doubt you will fetch a high price for that golden-haired Saxon witch. Then you can use the wealth you earn toward the cause of driving the rest of her kind back into the sea. Ungodly bastards!”

  Eastra gritted her teeth. She would not let this man make her feel shamed. She would not!

  She looked at Rhun, who also appeared distraught. Bridei spoke casually. “I thought the Church was opposed to slavery. Or did I hear wrong?”

  The holy brother’s expression went sour. “Aye, that is the Church’s official policy. But I believe we must use every weapon at our disposal in this desperate battle to save Britain from the barbarian hordes.”

  “Since you are obviously so uncomfortable in the presence of one of those ‘barbarians,’ I think it would be best if we traveled separately.” With those words, Rhun nodded to Eastra, then urged his horse into a trot. Eastra dug her knees into her own mount to catch up with him. A few seconds later, the rest of the troop joined them.

  “Narrow-minded fool!” Rhun said hotly. “I have half a mind to go back and confiscate his mule in the name of Arthur’s cause. I wonder how he would like that!”

  “Relax, brother,” Bridei
coaxed. “Remember our purpose for this journey and our mission in Londinium. It was reasonable for him to believe we share his prejudices against Saxons. That was exactly what I hoped he would think when I said Eastra was a prisoner. But you, you can’t let a lie stand for even a second, can you?”

  “I saw no danger there,” Rhun said. “No reason to lie, to make up that crude, disgusting story about Eastra. You know what he was thinking, that we mean to sell her for a bedslave, and that we have all had her already!”

  “And what does it hurt to let him think that? It’s a plausible explanation for her presence in our troop. If she’s a slave, a captive, then she becomes invisible. No one would think to guess she is kin of the most feared Saxon warlord in Britain.” Bridei looked at Eastra, his raven dark brows level over his piercing blue eyes. “Perhaps it hurts your pride to think of yourself as a slave, but it might well save your life.”

  She nodded slowly. “Bridei’s right. I should not care what that man thinks of me. He’s obviously ignorant and embittered.” She turned to Bridei. “If you think it best to tell everyone I am a slave, I have no objection.”

  “I thought we were going to say she is my leman,” Rhun protested. “That sounds a little more dignified, at least.”

  “When we reach the city, the story that she is your leman will better serve. But for now, on the road—I don’t think those holy men would have understood.”

  “No, probably not,” Rhun said furiously. “But I would have liked to make them understand!”

  “What were you going to do?” Bridei asked. “You can hardly strike a holy man. And if you tried to defend Eastra, he would undoubtedly have complained to everyone he met that King Arthur’s Companions are not the noble Christian heroes they have been portrayed to be, but Saxon-loving whoremongers. Frankly, that is not the sort of gossip we need right now.”