“Perhaps this peace will hold and he need never carry a sword,” Eastra said wistfully.
Petra shook her head. “You can dream, my lady. But you know in your heart that men being the way they are, war is inevitable.”
Petra whisked the babe away to change him, and Eastra hurried to her own room to exchange her soiled gunna for a clean one.
By the time she was presentable, Rhun and her uncle had arrived. Hearing their heavy footsteps and deep voices in the entryway, she went to greet them. She bowed to her uncle, then embraced Rhun.
Eastra led them into the atrium, which she’d refurbished with more substantial and comfortable native-made furniture. Cerdic immediately sank into one of the big wooden chairs by the brazier. This one had wolfsheads carved into the armrests. Rhun took a seat in a chair with a dragon motif. She chose a cushioned stool for herself and pushed it close to where Rhun was sitting. A servant brought ale and the two men drank for awhile, not speaking, but seemingly content to simply rest and quench their thirst.
Eastra studied the tapestry on the wall, a present from Rhiannon and featuring a crimson dragon and a golden stallion—the symbol of her Saxon heritage—on a background of purple and white flowers. How strange it was, she thought. Who would have imagined a year ago that she would be living in a Roman-style house and her uncle and Rhun would be relaxing together like a pair of hunting dogs come in from the chase? It still amazed her that Cerdic had accepted Rhun so readily. Perhaps it was his coloring and build, which were so much like a Saxon’s. Or perhaps it was that over the years, Cerdic, like she, had grown comfortable with British ways and customs and could now see the similarities between the two peoples more than the differences. Cerdic and Rhun had been together almost constantly this past year, trying to forge a treaty between the British chieftains and the Saxons. Eastra had taught Rhun her language, and that had further aided the negotiations.
“So,” she began when her curiosity got the better of her attempt to appear as a dutiful hostess, “How did you fare in your meeting with Cynglass and Urien?”
“Well enough.” Cerdic nodded in satisfaction. “We’ve set up the boundary line along the old Roman road that leads from Isca Dumonia all the way to Lindum. It cuts the south of the island nearly in half, expanding Saxon lands substantially.”
“But it leaves most of the forested wild places to the British,” Rhun added. “Which is as it should be.”
“Do you think the peace will hold?”
Cerdic shrugged. “At least during my lifetime. Oh, the British chieftains will still raid and fight among themselves, but that’s not my concern.”
Eastra looked to Rhun. He shrugged. “Aye, Cerdic is right. My people will fight each other and the Irish will raid and life will go on as it always has.”
Their words didn’t really satisfy Eastra, but she didn’t comment. Although she doubted she would ever become as complacent and accepting as Rhiannon, she was trying to learn to deal with the fact that men simply saw the world differently than women.
Cerdic sat back in his chair and sighed. “You’ve done well for yourself, niece. This is as fine a dwelling as I’ve ever been in.”
Although startled by the compliment, Eastra managed to say, “I’m pleased you like it. When Aurelius and his family sailed for Less Britain, I knew it would fall into ruin unless someone lived here and kept it up. The stone walls can be cold and damp in the winter, but the garden is so lovely it more than makes up for the other less comfortable aspects of Roman living.”
“Ah, Aurelius,” Cerdic smiled wolfishly. “A pity he had to leave so abruptly and abandon so much of his wealth.”
Eastra considered Aurelius’s fate. Who would have guessed he was the one who had arranged for her and Rhun to be attacked on that Londinium street over a year ago? But that was no odder than the fact that it had been Cador—one of Arthur’s most trusted captains— who Aurelius had conspired with. Cador despised the Saxons and wanted no part of a truce with them. He’d done all he could to bring about the battle that had ended up costing him his life, including sending the false message that Mordred was dead.
Crafty Aurelius had sensed that Arthur’s fall was coming, but he made the mistake of throwing in his lot with the scheming Cador rather than the Saxons. When Cerdic reached Londinium last autumn and heard Aurelius bragging about his part in Arthur’s downfall, he’d made some inquiries and discovered the whole murderous plot. He wasn’t pleased and offered Aurelius the choice of leaving Britain or losing his life.
“I wonder what happened to Aurelius’s daughter,” Rhun mused. He looked at Eastra. “You remember her, don’t you? The one who kept throwing herself at Bridei?”
“I remember her,” Eastra answered. “According to the servants here, Aurelius ended up wedding her off to some Saxon armorer who has his shop not far from here. The story is that by the time her father found out she was with child, she was too far gone to attract a better match.”
Cerdic looked at Rhun. “Your brother’s get?”
“I don’t think so. He swore he did no more than flirt with her.”
Eastra shook her head. “I think she was already pregnant when we stayed here. That’s likely why she was so desperate to seduce Bridei. It was her last chance at a royal husband.” She felt a twinge of gratification to think that the haughty Roman British Calida had ended up married to one of the people she despised and a lowly armorer at that.
Petra came in carrying Ceawlin, and Rhun took his son in his arms. At first, Cerdic tried to feign disinterest in his grandnephew, but there was no mistaking the pride in his voice as he said, “A fine, brawny suckling. He will make a formidable warrior someday.”
“Not if I can help it,” Eastra answered.
“Oh, he’ll be a warrior,” Cerdic said. “He’s got the blood for it from both sides. A warrior and a king—high king of the Britons.”
Eastra could only shake her head and laugh. Over the babe’s downy, golden head, she met Rhun’s gaze. The look of tender love on his face made her breath catch. How she adored him, her glorious dragon prince.
Cerdic leaned over and offered a rough, scarred finger for Ceawlin to grab. Behind him, Rhun mouthed the words, “I love you.”
Eastra mouthed the words back. And little Ceawlin gave a hiccupping giggle of delight.
The End
Dear Readers,
The Dragon Prince is made up of about equal parts history, legend, and imagination. First the history: There really was a king named Maelgwn the Great. He had a long reign over the kingdom of Gwynedd (northwest Wales) and sired several sons, including Rhun, who was said to have filled the power void left when King Arthur died, and Bridei, who is associated with the northern part of Britain.
There is much less documentation for Arthur, although Nennius, writing in the 1100’s (nearly 600 years after Arthur’s time) lists several important battles, including “the fight at Camlann in which Arthur and Medraut were killed.” Camlann is thought to be a later form of Camboglanna, and Mordred is a variation of Medraut.
As for the legend, I’ve always thought it ironic that the tale of King Arthur has been preserved and embellished primarily by the very people who historically were his enemies. The Saxons eventually conquered and populated most of Britain, and through a quirk of language became the English (from the name of their fellow Germanic tribesmen, the Angles). They took King Arthur as their own and raised him to the level of a mythical folk-hero, a symbol for the most idealized concept of kingship and heroic nobility. He is certainly a larger than life character, and I found the fantasy of a “forever king” so compelling that I decided to add my own twist to the story and not kill off Arthur but instead provide a semi-magical explanation for his disappearance.
The rest of this story sprang solely from my imagination, incorporating a belief in the spiritual energy of the earth, the eternal cycle of rebirth and renewal, and the powerful magic of love.
Happy reading!
Mary Gillgannon
I am fascinated by history, as well as Celtic myth and legend. These interests inspire and enrich most of my books, both historical romance and historical fantasy. Raised in the Midwest, I currently live in Wyoming with my husband, four cats and a dog. Besides writing and working (I’m employed in a public library) I enjoy gardening, travel and reading, of course!
For more about my books and me, visit my website http://marygillgannon.com.
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