Born of the Sun

by Joan Wolf

  "No," he said.

  "Yes. I have spoken to Cutha and he says the same."

  "You have spoken to my father?" Sigurd asked.

  "Yes. I sent for him as soon as Niniane told me what she had heard. He says that Ceawlin is to take Niniane and go to Bryn Atha."

  "Take Niniane!" Sigurd looked at the princess's lovely face. "What does this mean?" he asked her.

  Her smoky blue eyes were troubled. "Your father says that Guthfrid is certain to suspect that I was the one who gave the warning. He says I am no longer safe in Winchester."

  It was probably true, Sigurd realized, after he had thought for a minute. But he did not like the idea of Niniane leaving Winchester. He did not like the idea of Niniane leaving him. He had only been waiting for the right moment to ask his father ...

  "Marry her," he heard Fara saying.

  "What?" It was Sigurd, not Ceawlin, whose voice was raised in protest.

  "I said that Cutha insisted that Ceawlin and Niniane be married first," Fara repeated for Sigurd's benefit. But she was looking at her son.

  "Why?" said Ceawlin.

  "Because her brother is Prince of the Atrebates and could possibly become your ally."

  "It is the match my father wanted for Edwin," Ceawlin said. His voice was expressionless.

  "It is the match he wanted for the future King of Wessex," returned Fara.

  Ceawlin slowly nodded his silver head, and for the first time he looked at Niniane. "It might be a way." His voice was slow as well. Obviously he was thinking it out as he went along. "It would give me a base from which to operate." Turquoise sparks began to light in his eyes. "It has been impossible, these last months under Guthfrid's rule. I just did not know where it was best for me to go. This will serve very well."

  "Do you mean you will marry her?" Sigurd was whiter than usual, his voice constricted.

  "Yes." Ceawlin had come to a decision. "Yes," he said again, his voice more confident. "It is a good move. Cutha is right. We will go to Bryn Atha."

  "What if my brother should object?" Niniane's face was as pale as Sigurd's, her soft lips pressed into an unusually thin line.

  "Your brother has pledged not to bear arms against me. He is a prince. He will not break his word."

  Niniane bowed her head. She was going to do it, Sigurd thought. She was going to marry him.

  "Cutha said you were to speak your vows in front of Sigurd before you left," Fara was saying. "You can do it again with more ceremony later, but for now vows spoken in front of a witness are binding in law."

  "Niniane?" Sigurd turned to her. "Are you willing?"

  She did not look up. "It seems I have no choice."

  "No more than I do, Princess," returned Ceawlin pleasantly. "Well, then, let us get it over with. There are things I must do before tonight."

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  True to his word, Cutha had two horses at the postern gate when Ceawlin arrived there sometime shortly before midnight. The guard, one of Cutha's men, had been expecting him and said softly, "Prince Ceawlin?" as soon as Ceawlin's shadowy figure moved into his field of vision.

  "The girl is not here yet?" Ceawlin responded, looking around.

  "Not yet, my lord. But it lacks some minutes until midnight."

  The two men stood in silence, listening. The day had been overcast and there were no lights in the sky. "My lord?" Ceawlin recognized Niniane's surprisingly deep voice. She had moved so quietly he had not heard her approach.

  "Yes," he answered, looking toward the sound of her voice in the dark.

  "You would make a good stalker, my lady," the guard said humorously in broken British. "I never heard you coming."

  "I was country-raised," Niniane replied in excellent Saxon.

  "What an interesting time you must have had of it these past two years in Winchester," Ceawlin remarked, and even though she could not see him, she could hear the sarcasm in his voice.

  "When among the enemy, it is necessary to use what weapons come to one's hand," she replied, her husky voice cool and unruffled. "Lucky for you, Prince, that I did conceal my knowledge of Saxon, else you would be lying this night with a knife in your back."

  "I am not that easy to kill, Princess—" Ceawlin was beginning to answer, when the guard cut in.

  "Prince, you had best be on your way. If you tarry too long you might be seen."

  "Of course," said Ceawlin, annoyed at being caught in a stupid squabble with a girl. Without further speech, he lifted Niniane to the saddle of one of the horses. Then he mounted his own horse and took her reins into his hand. The horses' hooves had been covered with cloth to muffle them, and the silence as they rode out through the gate was almost eerie.

  The March night was cold and very dark. Ceawlin seemed to have no trouble seeing, however, and turned without hesitation to cut across the fields that lay to their right. Within ten minutes he had brought them to the road. Ceawlin took the cloth off the horses' hooves and got back into his saddle once more, taking up Niniane's reins.

  "I am perfectly capable of guiding my own horse now that we are on the road," Niniane said.

  He gave her back her reins without an answer. Then, "Can you ride a canter? We will make better time if we canter."

  "Certainly I can ride a canter."

  He turned his head to look at her. She was sitting straight in the saddle and her posture looked balanced and relaxed. "All right," he said, and gently pressed Bayvard forward into an easy canter. Niniane's gelding followed, and after Ceawlin had ascertained that she was indeed capable of sitting to a canter, he concentrated instead on thinking about what he was going to do once they reached Bryn Atha.

  This Coinmail, her brother, clearly objected to Saxon encroachment into his territory. He had gone to war to try to halt it. He had lost, and now was honor-bound not to take up arms against the Saxons again. But Ceawlin did not anticipate Coinmail would be pleased to harbor a Saxon prince within Bryn Atha. He must be convinced that it was to the benefit of the Atrebates to support Ceawlin over Guthfrid and her child. Any way he looked at it, Ceawlin was going to have to make concessions to the Atrebates.

  They rode through the night, the silence growing longer and longer as Ceawlin thought and plotted. He had not had time to do much thinking this afternoon; he had been too much occupied with other things. The marriage itself had been a matter of minutes, a few vows sworn in front of Sigurd, but there had been other people it was necessary for him to talk to before he left. He had some faithful adherents among the young thanes who slept in the princes' hall, and it had been necessary to give them instructions.

  "What is the chief objection your people have to us?" he said abruptly, turning to Niniane. They had been riding for two hours.

  "Wh-what?" She could scarcely speak, her teeth were chattering so much. The night had grown progressively more clear and cold as they rode north.

  He brought Bayvard down to a walk; then, when her gelding slowed also, he leaned out of his saddle to feel her fingers on her reins. "You're freezing! Why didn't you say something?"

  "I th-thought you w-wanted to get to Br-Bryn Atha ..."

  "I do, but I don't want you frozen to death first." He looked around. "I know where we are and there is a vil not too far ahead. Just a settlement of peasants' huts, I'm afraid, but we could rest and get warm in one of the storage barns."

  "All ... all right."

  Ceawlin pressed Bayvard into an energetic trot and began to watch the left side of the road carefully. There was a small track along here somewhere.... "Here it is." He turned to where she was riding beside him. "We will have to go single file—the track is not wide. Follow me." And he turned his horse off the road and onto a narrow dirt path. After a short space they came out of the woods and began to cross a series of fields. Niniane concentrated on keeping her stiff, frozen body on top of her horse and let the gelding follow on his own.

  "I see it." He turned to look at her. "Only a few more minutes."

 
Ahead of her Niniane saw a small settlement of sunken huts arranged in a circle. Ceawlin halted and looked around, then began to walk Bayvard toward a large timber building standing some distance from the circle of huts. When they reached the building he dismounted, broke the lock on the door, and peered inside.

  It was very dark in the windowless barn and it took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the change in light. Then he saw that it was indeed what he had thought it to be, a storage barn for winter fodder. The first floor was almost empty. It was March and most of the fodder had been consumed. He turned back to Niniane and said, "It's all right. We can tie the horses and climb up into the loft ourselves to get warm."

  He held her horse's bridle so she could dismount, but when she slid to the ground her knees buckled and she would have fallen had she not held to the saddle to support herself.

  "Go in," Ceawlin said abruptly. "I'll bring the horses."

  She obeyed him, walking on stiff and shaking legs through the door and into the cavernous blackness of the barn. Ceawlin followed, leading the horses. Niniane stood perfectly still in the middle of the dirt floor and listened to Ceawlin tying up the horses somewhere to her right. Then he said, "I'm just going to climb into the loft to see if there is any hay." She did not hear him going up the ladder, but she heard faint footsteps overhead. Then, suddenly, his voice came out of the darkness beside her. "Yes, there is hay. Come, we'll make a nice nest for you to get warm in."

  "How can you see?" He was a virtually invisible presence to her; there was not even light enough to catch his hair.

  "I have always been able to see well in the dark. Come. Hold on to my belt. You need to climb the ladder to the loft."

  He took her hand and guided it to his belt and she followed him blindly to the ladder. She went up the ladder by touch and he was waiting for her at the top. "Over here." He took her hand. "We can rest for a few hours and be on our way at dawn."

  He led her to the place where he had spread a bale of hay to make a bed for them. "Here," he said, picked her up in his arms, and laid her down as if she were a child. When he had picked her up, he felt how uncontrollable were the shivers that racked her. "You should have said you were cold," he scolded, as if she were indeed a child.

  "I d-didn't want to hold you u-up. There is d-danger."

  He was unpinning the brooch that held his cloak as she was speaking. Then he lay down beside her and, spreading his cloak over them both, gathered her into the warmth of his arms. He felt her stiffen and said in a soothing, comforting voice, "It's all right. We will keep each other warm this way."

  "You don't feel c-cold at all."

  "I have more meat on me than you do."

  He settled her head into the hollow of his shoulder and felt her resistance drain away. She nestled against him. It was ten minutes before her shivering stopped completely. "Better?" he asked in a soft, oddly tender voice.

  "Yes." She sounded like a sleepy child.

  "Go to sleep," he said. "I'll wake you when it's time to go."

  She was asleep almost immediately. It did not take Ceawlin long to follow.

  When he woke it was dawn. There was light seeping in between the cracks in the barn wall and he could hear the birds beginning to call in the trees. Niniane was fast asleep in his arms.

  Sex had not been on his mind last night when he had made this soft bed of hay for the two of them to sleep in. But his young male body had been aware of the softness pressed against it all night even if his mind had not been that way inclined. He woke and he knew immediately what it was he wanted.

  Ceawlin had had his first girl when he was fifteen; Cynric had sent an experienced bower woman to initiate his son into one of the most important rites of manhood. Sex had come easily then and had continued to come easily in all the years since. There were always plenty of women anxious to take a prince, even a bastard prince, into their bed.

  Ordinarily he would not have thought twice about satisfying his need. It would not take long, and then they could be on their way. But Niniane ... Niniane was a virgin. He had never lain with a virgin before. All of his women had known what they were about.

  Of course, they were married. She could not complain. It was her duty to satisfy him. He looked down at the small round head that was nestled so trustingly against his shoulder. For some strange reason, this girl made him feel as if he needed to protect her. It was probably because she was so small. He did not want to frighten her.

  Her head moved and lifted, and sleepy, smoky blue eyes were looking up at him. He could see the pattern of his tunic's fabric imprinted on her cheek. A strand of long hair had caught in her eyelashes. She looked surprised to see him, then she blinked and tried visibly to collect her thoughts. She looked like a kitten just waking up.

  "Come," he said. His voice was abrupt and hard. He was very uncomfortable and he blamed her for it. "If we don't get moving soon, the peasants will find us and I don't want that to happen."

  She sat up and pushed her hair off her face. "Of course. The sun must be up. I can see." She smiled at him a little shyly. "Thank you, Prince. I am much warmer."

  "Good." He stood up and brushed the hay from his clothes. "Then let us go."

  * * * *

  They rode out of the vil without their presence being noted and returned to the road. Ceawlin could see that Niniane was stiff from the long canter the day before, but she made no complaint. He appraised her out of the side of his eyes and decided not to push the pace too hard. She would need all her wits to face her brother when they reached Bryn Atha. And she had wits, this little British princess. There could no longer be any doubt about that.

  They reached Bryn Atha in the early afternoon. Cynric had not taken his war band to the villa after his victory at Beranbyrg, so Ceawlin had never been there before. He could not restrain an exclamation of surprise and admiration as he followed Niniane in through the gate and saw for the first time that beautiful Roman courtyard.

  It was deserted.

  "Coinmail must be at one of the farms," Niniane said. "Come, I'll take you to the stables first. We had better take care of the horses."

  He looked at her with distinct approval. She was tired and sore but she was ready to take care of the horses first. He gave Bayvard a long rein and followed along beside her chestnut gelding. "Bryn Atha is beautiful," he said, feeling he owed her a reward of some sort. "When Winchester is naught but ashes, these stones will still be here."

  He was rewarded by a smile. Her teeth were small and white and, like the rest of her, perfectly formed. For the first time he noticed that she had a dimple in the corner of her mouth.

  The stable was empty too. Empty not only of horses but also of fodder. There was no sign of use at all. Niniane frowned. "This is strange. The chickens are gone too, and the pigs. Wherever can Coinmail be?"

  They gave the horses water, then picketed them to graze, as there was no hay. "Let's go to the house," Niniane said. "I cannot imagine what has happened."

  They returned to the courtyard, where Niniane shouted first, "Brenna! Col! ... The servants," she added in an aside to Ceawlin. There was no answer.

  "Let's look in the house," Ceawlin said.

  Most Roman villas were fronted by colonnades, but Bryn Atha, built by an Atrebates prince to withstand the inclement British climate, had an enclosed colonnade that was more like a long gallery off which all the rooms in the villa opened. The main door led into the tablinum, or large reception room. Ceawlin stood for a moment in silence, slowly surveying the yellow plaster walls with their scrolls of jewellike color. Then he looked at the pictured mosaic floor. It was a hunt scene, with a golden-haired, scantily clad huntress engaged in spearing a giant boar. "What is it supposed to represent?" he asked Niniane.

  "Venus. The Roman goddess of beauty," she answered. She went to the windows, opened the glass panes, and then unlatched the shutters. Ceawlin watched as she pushed the shutters wide, then closed the window again, allowing the afternoon sun to come streami
ng into the room. She turned back to face him, and the sun lit her hair to the glow of autumn.

  "I remember," he said slowly. "You don't like the dark."

  "I don't like rooms without windows," she said. "Or rooms that are stuffy. The house has been closed up. I don't think Coinmail is living here at all."

  "Well, let us look," he answered. The puzzle of Coinmail could wait for a moment; he was curious to see a real Roman house. He looked around the room. "There is no hearthplace. How do you stay warm?"

  Niniane explained about the hypocaust. "It still works under the sitting room and the dining room and the small reception room," she said, and showed him where the stoke hole was where one made the fire that would heat the pipes under the house. The dining room was a separate room, with a table that was not taken up after every meal. The bedrooms all had windows, which Niniane opened, and the floors were of brick and concrete and were covered by colorful rugs. The baths were in a separate part of the house, but Niniane said they had not worked for years.

  They ended up in the kitchen, with its raised hearth stove fed by charcoal. There was no food.

  "Where can your brother have gone?" Ceawlin asked.

  "I have no idea. Wherever it is, he evidently plans to be gone for some time. He has taken all the animals."

  "How can we find out?"

  Niniane pushed her hand through her hair and stared abstractedly at the stove. "Naille would know for sure. He is a cousin and would be chief should something happen to Coinmail." She frowned and looked from the stove to Ceawlin's face. "I'm not sure it's wise to go to Naille until we find out what has happened to Coinmail, Prince. Naille did not promise never to bear arms against you."

  Ceawlin swore. "We heard no word in Winchester that your brother was gone."

  "Why should you?"

  "We should. It's true we don't keep watch on the Britons and their doings, but we should."

  Niniane did not look as if she agreed. She refrained from comment, however, and said instead, "I had better go and see Geara. He has the nearest farm. He will probably know what has happened to Coinmail."