The Dragon Prince

by Mary Gillgannon

  Chapter 18

  Beli tried to persuade Eastra to rest before setting out to find Arthur. While she agreed to eat—she was terribly hungry—she refused to wait until morning to begin their journey. “By then, Morguese will be searching for me,” she told him. “She might alert Cerdic, and although I doubt he cares what I do or who I talk to, I’d rather not depend on his indifference.”

  After Eastra had a quick meal of the usual dried meat and bread, washed down with a little wine, they left. Beli insisted she ride with him. Resting against his narrow but solid chest, she was able to doze fitfully. She woke several times, jerked awake by the memory of her urgent mission. But after several stretches of uneasy rest, she opened her eyes to discover it was growing light in the east. They’d traveled all night and made good progress, following the old Roman road south.

  As the sun rose, suffusing the sky with milky shades of rose and gold, they saw the British camp in the distance. It appeared to be a much smaller force than the combined warhost of Saxons and Picts. But the Britons had horses, Eastra reminded herself. And Rhun had told her many times that a cavalryman was worth ten warriors fighting on foot. Even now, they could see the warhorses being brought in from the picket lines. They were magnificent beasts, bred from Arabian stock brought from Narbonne across the eastern sea and the descendants of horses left behind by the Romans.

  Before they reached the perimeter of the camp, Eastra, Beli, and Owain dismounted and discussed how to proceed. Owain wanted to find Arthur and bring him to Eastra, who would wait in the woods nearby. He worried that if Eastra should be recognized by Arthur’s men, she might be taken prisoner or even killed.

  Eastra argued that except for Arthur’s Companions, few of the Britons had ever seen her, and if she wore her cloak over her light hair, she should be safe enough. Besides, she wasn’t certain Arthur would agree to meet with her. Confronting him in his tent might be the only way she would have a chance to speak to him. Reluctantly, Owain agreed.

  As they entered their camp, it was obvious the Britons were preparing to march. Armor bearers and servants hurried to and fro, carrying weapons, leading horses, dismantling tents. In the midst of the confusion, Eastra wondered if they might not pass unnoticed all the way to the center of the camp where Arthur’s purple pennant, adorned with a golden bear and a white eagle, marked the headquarters of the high king. But they were finally stopped by a grizzled-looking sentry who demanded to know their business.

  Owain replied they were on their way to speak to Arthur. When the sentry continued to glare at them suspiciously, Owain provided the additional information that he was one of Maelgwn the Great’s captains. Once again the Cymru king’s name opened the way for them. The sentry’s dour expression brightened, and he immediately offered to take them to Arthur.

  The sentry led them through the churned mud and scattered refuse of the departing army to the headquarters of the high king. There they were again questioned by guards. While Owain once more invoked Maelgwn’s name, Eastra looked around, hoping desperately for a glimpse of Rhun. A part of her wanted to forget all about talking to Arthur and instead seek out her love and somehow convince him to leave with her.

  But she couldn’t do that, she told herself. More was at stake than Rhun’s life. If the Britons marched into battle against the Saxons and the Picts, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men would die. For the sake of those men and their families, she had to try to stop the impending battle.

  The guards finally motioned Owain forward, but blocked the way when she and Beli tried to follow. “The lady is known to Arthur,” Owain insisted. “I believe he would wish to see her.” When the guards still balked, he drawled contemptuously, “Has the high king grown so cautious that he refuses to allow a young maid into his tent for fear she is a spy or assassin?”

  Owain’s sarcasm had the desired effect. Eastra was waved forward.

  They entered the tent. Arthur was seated on a stool by a small table, peering at a parchment map. It seemed to Eastra that he had aged since she last saw him. The lines bracketing his mouth and etching his forehead appeared deeper, and he’d lost flesh.

  Owain bowed. “My lord, I am Owain ap Pharic of north Gwynedd.” At the word “Gwynedd,” Arthur seemed to straighten. Then Owain said, “And this woman is Princess Eastra of the Saxons.” Although Arthur did not react to this, the youth seated on the floor of the tent polishing the high king’s armor jerked his head up.

  Owain nodded to Eastra. She pulled back her hood and squared her shoulders. Then she bowed, “Sire.”

  There was a long moment as Eastra caught her breath and gathered her thoughts. “No doubt you thought I was dead,” she began. “But I am alive. And so is your son, Mordred. No matter what you have heard, be assured he still lives. I spoke with him only yesterday.”

  Arthur didn’t respond, only waited, his gray eyes piercing her, as if he could, by force of will, see into the very marrow of her bones.

  “But all is not well,” she continued. “Mordred plots with my Uncle Cerdic to bring you down. They have joined forces with the Picts, and they plan to bring their combined army against you.” She hesitated at the coldness of her next words. “Mordred has vowed to kill you himself. I heard him say so with my own ears.” What did he feel, she wondered. This man who was like a god to so many, but so hated by his own flesh and blood?

  Arthur let out his breath in a sound that was almost a sigh. The weariness she’d glimpsed when she first saw him seemed to weigh upon him even heavier. “Why do you come here?” he asked. “Why tell me these things? Did Cerdic send you?”

  “Nay. If Cerdic had known my intentions, he would never have let me leave his camp. I come here on my own. I came because—” She struggled to sound convincing. “Because I am tired of seeing men die, of seeing families ripped apart by grief, children torn from their parents. I want this fighting between our peoples to end. One of your captains, Rhun ap Maelgwn, has told me he doesn’t believe you can win this war. If that’s true, why not end it now, before more men die? If the Britons go back to their farmsteads and settlements and forts, Cerdic will leave you alone. Cede to him the east, and the north to the Picts, and you will still have half of the south of the island for your own people.”

  “And Cerdic’s sons and grandsons?” The glimmer of a bitter smile played upon Arthur’s mouth. He shook his head. “Nay, they will not be satisfied with part of Britain. They will want it all, and then the fighting will begin all over again.”

  Eastra feared he was right, but that didn’t mean she intended to give up. “Aye, but until then, we might have peace for a generation. Or even longer. Time to raise our children, rebuild our settlements, to heal the damage that two score years of war have wrought.”

  “I believe you are sincere, Princess Eastra. And brave and noble as well. But you must understand, the die is cast. There is no turning back. I have lived my whole life, sacrificed near everything I hold dear, for the sake of this dream. I cannot abandon it now.”

  “No matter who suffers?” she asked angrily. “Are you not a compassionate man, a Christian? I’ve heard your god tells his followers to love their enemies. Yet you have unceasingly shed the blood of my countrymen, slaughtered women and children, burned and plundered and ravaged from one end of this land to the other!” She was almost shouting now. All her anger and grief came rushing out. She wanted to hurt him, to make him think about what, exactly, his noble dream had wrought. “Your son despises you, and who can blame him? You were willing to sacrifice even him, your own flesh and blood, for the sake of your ambition!”

  Arthur’s face changed. The weary, resigned expression was gone, and he stared at her with a stunned expression. “Who told you such a thing?”

  Eastra hesitated. Mordred might be the very weapon she could use against him. If she could arouse the high king’s regret for what he’d done in the past, perhaps she could influence what he did in the future. “Morguese told me,” she answered. “She told me what you said whe
n you learned she was carrying your child.”

  Arthur glanced at Owain and at the servant polishing his armor. “Leave us,” he said. It was the command of a man used to being obeyed.

  “Eastra,” Owain pleaded.

  She shook her head. “Do as he asks.”

  When they were alone, Arthur took a step toward her. She could see his hands were clenched into fists. Fear swept over her. He took another step nearer and dread choked her throat. “What does Morguese want with me now?” he demanded. “Why did she send you here?”

  Arthur’s eyes looked cold. Eastra swallowed. What was she thinking, goading this powerful man when he was already beset on every side? She struggled for composure. Although Arthur might strike her in a rage, she didn’t think he would kill her. “Nay, Morguese didn’t send me,” she responded. “But she did tell me you ordered her to leave Mordred out for the wolves when he was born. She said you wanted him to die because he might interfere with your dream of ruling all of Britain.”

  As quickly as it had appeared, Arthur’s anger seemed to vanish. “That was not the way of it at all... but even so, I do owe penance for that, for telling her to kill him at birth.” He sighed heavily. “But I was very young, and overwhelmed by what we’d done. She’d tricked me, and I was angry, angry enough to compound the sin, to make it into the curse it has since become.” He gave a kind of shiver, and then his eyes met Eastra’s. “But wretched Mordred is not all my doing. She spoiled him, raised him to be ambitious and power-mad. By the time he came to me, he was already ruined. I tried to give him a chance, to offer him what love I could, but it was too late.”

  Eastra nodded. She believed him. There was something wrong with Mordred. She’d felt it as soon as she met him.

  Arthur sighed again. “Or maybe it was our sin that blackened his soul beyond redemption.”

  “Sin?” she asked puzzled. This was the second time he had used that word. She knew it was something bad, something evil, but she was not certain exactly what Arthur meant. “Is it because she used a spell to entice you into her bed? Is that why you were angry? Is that why it was a sin?”

  Arthur gave her a desperate look, as if he were pleading with her to understand. “You’re not Christian, are you?”

  Eastra shook her head.

  “But your people do have taboos, things that they’re not allowed to do, lest they lose the favor of their gods. Is that not right?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well, what Morguese and I did is considered... taboo. You see, we have the same father. She is Uther’s bastard just as I am. For us to share a bed is...” He took a deep breath. “For people who worship the old gods, it is considered unchancy and dangerous. For a Christian, it is an abomination.”

  “Morguese is your half sister?” Eastra gasped. “But then why does she hate you? Why does she plot your death?”

  “If you were to ask Morguese that, she would say she is only obeying the Goddess, and that I must die because I have fought to make the Christian God more honored than the Great Mother. She will say she has seen my death, and hence it must come to pass. As for what glory she has seen for Mordred, who knows? Even if I die, few men will follow him.”

  That was true, Eastra thought. No Saxon would trust a man who killed his father. That thought led to another thought, and she seized upon it. “Mordred means to kill you,” she said. “Knowing what he is, what he is capable of, do you truly think it wise to face him on the battlefield?”

  Arthur’s expression grew grim. “If he wants to kill me, he’ll have to fight better than I’ve ever seen him fight. I’m old and slower than I used to be, but that has only made me more cunning and shrewd. But, nay, I will not shy from battle because I fear him, even though a secret part of me wonders if that is not his destiny, to kill me and finally cleanse me of my dread sin. For if I die by his hand, the debt will be paid, and maybe then God will see fit to answer my prayers and allow my people to triumph.”

  Eastra could not understand his reasoning. All this talk of sin and debts seemed very odd. If Arthur had been tricked into lying with Morguese, why did he feel he was to blame?

  She would have to ask Rhun sometime to tell her more about this Christian God who seemed so rigid and harsh, so demanding of his followers. Rhun. That was the other reason she had come here. It was clear she had failed to dissuade Arthur from going to war against Cerdic. He seemed resigned to his fate, determined to follow his dream to its tragic, deadly end. But that did not mean Rhun had to die as well.

  “There is a man I love,” she said. “One of your Companions, Rhun ap Maelgwn. I am carrying his child, and I would not have it left fatherless ere it is even born.” She touched her stomach. “If you would release him from his vow to you, his oath to fight for Britain, I would be most grateful.”

  What a hopeless, pathetic request it was. She had nothing to bargain with. There was no reason for Arthur to do as she wished and give up one of his best warriors. Obviously needed every man he could inveigle, entice, or threaten into fighting for him.

  Arthur returned to the table in the center of the tent. He fingered one of the rolled-up parchments lying there. “As I have said, you are courageous and bold, Princess Eastra, a most remarkable woman. And so young and lovely it near breaks my heart to look at you. No doubt you have suffered. I hear the pain in your voice when you speak of your dead kin. For that I am sorry. I have never given my men orders to kill women or children. But war is brutal and harsh... as you well know.” Her heart sank at the realization he was going to refuse her. “If I could grant your request, I would,” he continued. “But... I have not seen Rhun for over a sennight. He went to Gwynedd to visit his sick stepmother and hasn’t returned.”

  She stared at him. “He hasn’t returned? But...”

  “I have kept hoping, thinking he must still be trying to persuade his father and some of the other chieftains to join us.” He raised his gaze to hers. “But since I don’t know where he is, I can hardly release him from his vow.”

  It was Eastra’s turn to be stunned. She’d assumed Rhun had joined up with Arthur’s army as soon as he left Deganwy. That was four days ago. Where was he? Was Arthur correct in thinking Rhun was still trying to secure allies for the coming battle?

  For days she had been pushing herself, fighting through the exhaustion, forcing herself to go on. She’d told herself if she could only speak to Cerdic and then to Arthur, she could halt this upcoming battle and save untold lives.

  And beyond her quest to bring peace, her other hope had been to find Rhun and somehow find a way to keep him from danger. Now, all at once, the disappointment and futility of everything she had done caught up with her. She felt exhausted and weak, utterly despairing. With effort, she struggled to stay on her feet.

  “Princess, are you well?” Arthur’s voice came from a distance. She heard him calling out for help. In seconds, strong arms gripped her shoulders on either side. Beli spoke, his voice tender and concerned. “Come, lady, you must lie down.”

  In moments, she was herself again and resisting Beli’s attempts to take off her sandals. “Nay, I don’t need to lie down, merely sit for a while.”

  “It’s amazing she has managed this journey,” Arthur said. “She cannot be far along with the babe, and most women are tired and weak during the first few months.”

  “Babe! What babe?” Owain’s voice rose in a roar. “You mean to tell me she is with child?”

  “So she said,” Arthur replied. “She told me that she was carrying Rhun ap Maelgwn’s child.”

  Beli gasped. “I’m going to be an uncle!”

  Owain swore. “Of all the foolishness! All these days of riding and eating camp food. She might well have miscarried!”

  “Nay, not this babe.” Eastra touched her stomach tenderly and smiled. “Morguese told me the Goddess has special plans for it.”

  Owain continued to grumble. Beli hugged her. Arthur said, “I would willingly offer you the use of my tent, princess. But the fact is,
my army is already on the march, and I must take my leave of you.”

  “When will the battle take place?” Eastra asked. “This day, or the next?”

  “It will take all of today to reach Eburacum and secure our position. The war horns will not sound until early tomorrow morning.”

  The dull ache of despair threatened to weigh her down. Her worst fears were on the verge of being realized. Yet there was hope Rhun would escape the slaughter. If Rhun were still on his way, they might be able to intercept him before he joined Arthur’s army. She looked at Owain, wondering how she was ever going to be able to convince him to let her back on a horse.

  * * *

  It was a delightful dream. Eastra was kissing him. Her mouth felt as light and caressing as the stroke of a butterfly’s wing against his skin. She drew back and smiled, as beautiful and radiant as the most resplendent sunrise. He leaned nearer, hungry for another taste of her sweet, sweet lips. Something seemed to be in the way. He looked down. Her belly was swollen, round and firm as an unripened fruit. He touched it in awe, and beneath the taut skin there was a ripple of movement. He met her gaze and she leaned forward, their lips touching. Seeking to deepen the kiss, he reached out for her...

  The glorious reverie vanished, and Rhun found himself lying on the narrow bed in his childhood sleeping chamber, clutching the light summer blankets tightly in his arms. Disappointed and restless, he rolled off the bed and began to pace. He heard a cock crow in the distance and knew it was almost morning. Not that he had anywhere to go or anything to do this day. He grimaced at the ironic thought. Here he was, a prisoner in his own father’s fortress. What an ignominious, irritating fate. How could Maelgwn do such a thing to him? And how could gentle Rhiannon allow it?