Born of the Sun

by Joan Wolf

  Color stained Auda's cheeks. "Well, you must know, Mother, how unusual it is for a man ... well, I mean, the king is not like other men ..." Niniane's amusement was now visible and Auda pushed her pale brown hair off her brow and said sheepishly, "You know what I mean."

  "I know what you mean." Niniane's dimple was much in evidence. "And it partly explains it."

  Auda looked at her son. "I hope I can have as good a marriage with Crida as you have had with the king." Her eyes flicked toward Niniane, then went back to her son. After a moment's hesitation she added, "And I am not just thinking of my own personal happiness when I say that."

  Niniane's head tilted. "What do you mean?"

  Auda replied, her voice slow and thoughtful, "I think that if there is peace in the king's family, then there is peace in the kingdom. When my father was alive, he was always at odds with my grandfather. He did not think my grandfather gave him enough power. There were always schemes and plots between him and various thanes and eorls who saw in his dissatisfaction their own chance for advancement." Now Auda looked directly at Niniane. "Crida does not feel like that about the king. Crida admires his father, loves him. All your children feel that way, about the king, about you, about each other. There is no rivalry. And this ... goodwill ... trickles down to the rest of the kingdom. To the eorls and the thanes."

  Niniane looked at Auda with startled pleasure and respect. "That is very astute of you, Auda."

  Auda blushed. How grateful the child was for praise, Niniane thought as she smiled at Auda and smoothed out her wool. She had long thought that Crida's marriage was going to turn out to be a success for the kingdom as well as for the principals. Auda was proving surprisingly shrewd about matters of statecraft. She also obviously adored Crida, and Niniane thought that her son would be like Ceawlin, able to find contentment with one woman. Auda had already given Wessex an heir. As Niniane's thoughts reached this point, Ceowulf hiccuped in his sleep and Auda bent to see if he was all right.

  Crida had wanted to name the baby Cerdic, but Niniane had said no. She was not yet ready for another Cerdic.

  Auda was right, she thought now as she looked at the girl's slender back bending over the baby. Her family was at peace.

  It was a conversation she was to remember with aching nostalgia in the not-too-distant future.

  * * * *

  Ceawlin was furious. It was a long time since Niniane had seen him in such a rage. He paced back and forth across the floor of their sleeping room, his long strides making the room seem very small. "I will not allow it," he said. "He has chosen to challenge me and he will find he has made a mistake."

  Niniane sat huddled on the window seat and watched him. The cause of Ceawlin's ire was the withdrawal of the prince of Dynas from his daughter's betrothal to Bertred's son. It was not so much the withdrawal that had infuriated Ceawlin as the reason for it.

  "Dynas does not fall within your brother's territory," he flung at Niniane now as he paced in front of her. "Coinmail has gone beyond what is allowable in forbidding Bevan to go through with this marriage. And Bevan is a spineless coward for allowing Coinmail to intimidate him."

  It was, of course, Bevan's cowardice that had led him to seek a Saxon marriage for his daughter in the first place, but Niniane did not think this was the time to point that out to Ceawlin.

  "What does Bertred say?" she ventured after he had paced in silence for a few minutes. Bertred himself had ridden into Winchester that afternoon with the news of the broken betrothal.

  "Bertred wants to hold Bevan to the betrothal. I cannot blame him. Dynas, like all the British villas," and here he cast a look of scorn at Niniane, "has been allowed to fall into decay, but it is potentially a rich property. It will make a very nice settlement for Bertred's second son."

  "But, Ceawlin, how can you hold Bevan to the betrothal? Dynas does not lie within the boundaries of Wessex. It is part of Dumnonia. I can understand Coinmail's concern that it should fall into Saxon hands ..." Her voice trailed off. He had stopped his pacing and was standing in front of her, towering over her, and his eyes were blazing.

  "Dumnonia is not Coinmail's concern," he said.

  "Well"—she swallowed—"neither is it yours."

  "Dynas is my concern. It was promised to the son of one of my eorls and I am going to see to it that he gets it."

  Niniane stared up into her husband's face. It had been a very long time since anyone had dared to cross Ceawlin, she thought. He could rule with a light hand because his rule was so unquestionably accepted. But this was going to be different. Let Ceawlin get entangled in a dispute with Coinmail, and the allegiance of his British subjects would be sorely strained. She knew it. A confrontation with Coinmail would threaten the very stability of Wessex. But now was not the time to say that, not when he was so angry. He would not listen. Later, perhaps, when she had got him into bed ...

  "I have held my hand for all these years," he was saying now, and the line of his mouth was thin. "We need more land, but I have not reached my hand to take it, have done my best to expand Wessex by peaceful means. I have ever been conscious of British rights. But if Coinmail challenges me, Niniane, all of that will change."

  Dear God. "Ceawlin ... there is no need to be thinking of a war," she said quickly. "It is only a betrothal that has been broken!"

  "No. It is a challenge, Niniane. I know it. Coinmail knows it. And if I do not answer it, my eorls and my thanes will despise me. I will despise myself. I promised Bertred this afternoon that we will hold Bevan to the betrothal."

  * * * *

  The prince of Dynas was a man of middle age who had married late in life and had one daughter. The girl, the Princess Alys, was fourteen and of an age to marry. Upon Bevan's death, Alys' husband would become the owner of the villa of Dynas.

  Dynas was set on the river Avon, some six miles to the east of Aquae Sulis. It consisted of a lovely old stone manor house with outbuildings and many tilled acres of farmland. It was a rich prize and Bevan had worried long over how to dispose of it safely. He was a lazy, idle man but he was of a line of princes, and it was important to him that his blood descendants hold the land of his ancestors. In the end, to the horror of all his acquaintances, he had chosen the son of a Saxon eorl.

  Two things had prompted Bevan to the choice of Cedric, son of Bertred. The first was his conviction that it was inevitable one day for Wessex to expand into the area of Aquae Sulis. It would happen, if not under Ceawlin, then under the rule of Ceawlin's son. And when it happened, properties like Dynas would be the first to be handed over to new Saxon eorls. A marriage with the son of one of those eorls would safeguard Dynas from such a fate. His daughter and his grandchildren would be assured of keeping their family's ancestral home.

  The second thing that had made such a marriage possible in the eyes of Bevan was that Bertred's wife was British and a Christian. The boy, Cedric, had been baptized and his father had agreed without protest to a Christian marriage ceremony.

  So the betrothal had been accomplished. Alys was pleased with Cedric, a slim, handsome boy with soft brown hair and frank blue eyes. He was of an age with her and the two young people had seemed to agree very well during the short time that the eorl and his wife were at Dynas.

  Bevan had been pleased and relieved. Then had come the visit from Coinmail.

  Bevan knew Coinmail had no authority over him. Bevan was the Durotriges prince in this part of the world and he need answer to no one. But his weak and timid personality was incapable of standing up to Coinmail, who had always intimidated him.

  The red-haired prince rode into the villa one hot summer afternoon accompanied by an escort of six men. He met with Bevan in the room that had served for centuries as the prince's study. Scrolls were still piled upon the walnut tables, but they were coated with dust. Bevan was not one to pass his days imbibing the great literature of the past. He was much fonder of imbibing wine.

  Coinmail cast an appraising glance around the room. He had never learned to
read or write and had always envied those who could. He looked scornfully at the chubby figure of the man in front of him. Here was a prince who had had the sort of Roman upbringing Coinmail was trying so desperately to save for Britain, and he was betrothing his daughter to a pagan! Coinmail's gray eyes held the pale blue ones of the prince of Dynas in a merciless glare.

  "Allow this marriage and you will cut yourself off from the princes of Britain," he said, going directly to the reason for his visit.

  Bevan blustered a little. "You have no authority in Dumnonia, Prince. Nor have I heard you have been given leave to speak for the princes of Britain."

  "I speak for the princes of Wales," Coinmail returned. "For Condidan and Farinmail."

  "The King of Dumnonia is my lord," Bevan said.

  "The King of Dumnonia keeps his court far to the south of you, Bevan. You are on the northeastern boundaries of Dumnonia, and I doubt he troubles his mind about you. What you do will affect my people and the Welsh far more than it will affect Cador in distant Cornwall."

  This, of course, was true. The King of Dumnonia was Bevan's official lord, but the area around Aquae Sulis had been self-ruling since the days of Arthur. Cador would not concern himself with the marriage of Bevan's daughter.

  "They are already betrothed," Bevan protested. "There is nothing I can do."

  "Break the betrothal," Coinmail said.

  "I cannot! You don't understand. It was done formally, in front of witnesses. I cannot break it now."

  'You will break it, Bevan, or I will take your daughter back to Glevum with me and marry her into Wales."

  "You cannot do that!"

  "I have a hundred of my men in Aquae Sulis," Coinmail said. "I can do it."

  In the end, Bevan had agreed to break the betrothal. Alys cried bitterly; she had been well pleased with Cedric. And Bertred had ridden to Winchester to tell the king. Bevan sat at Dynas waiting in trembling fear for what was to happen next.

  * * * *

  The weather was sultry. It had been years since Bevan could remember such heat. He sat in his study, drinking wine and sweating heavily. There had been no response from Bertred since Bevan had sent a messenger to Romsey to inform the eorl that the betrothal was broken. Bevan was beginning to hope that the Saxon would understand his problems with Coinmail and accept his withdrawal with good grace.

  "My lord." One of his house servants stood in the doorway. "My lord, the eorl Bertred has just ridden in with a troop of men."

  Bevan put down his wine cup and groaned. "My lord," the servant was going on, his eyes huge, "there is someone with him.... My lord, I think it is Ceawlin himself!"

  "What?"

  "A silver-haired man, very tall, riding a white stallion, my lord."

  "Oh, my dear God." Bevan stumbled to his feet. "What am I going to do?"

  "My lord, the lady Alys has gone to greet them."

  Bevan gave a hunted look around his study, as if he would like to hide. Then, as he felt the servant's eyes on him, he straightened and said with dignity, "I will come also."

  He knew as soon as he saw him that the man standing beside Bertred was Ceawlin. He had never seen Ceawlin before, but it was not difficult to know that this man was a king. Bevan went forward to greet his unwanted guests and conduct them into his house.

  "We have come to discuss the marriage of the lady Alys to Cedric, son of Bertred," the king said when the three men were seated in the marble-floored great hall of the villa, which had not been used in decades.

  "My lord king ..." Bevan's pale eyes were desperate. "You must understand that it was not my wish to withdraw from the marriage. But Prince Coinmail came here—with a hundred men, my lord!—and threatened to take Alys to Wales with him should I not agree to break the betrothal."

  Ceawlin's face was unreadable. Bevan had never seen a more splendid-looking man than the Saxon king. "I did not know Prince Coinmail was overlord in this part of the world." His voice was faintly surprised.

  "My lord, you know he is not. But Coinmail ... well, it is hard to say no to Coinmail. Especially when he comes with a hundred men to enforce his will!"

  "Ah." Ceawlin took a sip of his wine and smiled at Bevan. The British prince felt himself relaxing. The king's smile was full of charm. "But I have a hundred men with me also," he said. "And I am going to hold you to the marriage."

  It took Bevan a moment to understand. Then all the wine-rich color drained from his face. "H-hold me to it?"

  "Yes." The extraordinary blue-green eyes were positively friendly. "Your daughter says she is willing. And you have sworn in front of witnesses, Bevan. The marriage will go forward."

  "I ..." Bevan was now white to the lips. "But what of Coinmail?"

  All the good humor left the king's face. In the heat of the room Bevan crossed his arms on his chest as if he were cold. "I will deal with Coinmail," Ceawlin said. "You need not worry about him."

  * * *

  Chapter 40

  Ceawlin brought Alys and Bevan to Winchester and sent to Glastonbury for a priest.

  "You are putting yourself in an impossible situation," Niniane said to her husband. "You can force the marriage, but that does not mean Cedric will ever be able to claim the villa. It is in British territory, Ceawlin! Coinmail will be able to arrange his death with little trouble. And he will do it. Then what will you have? Instead of gaining a manor, Bertred and Meghan will have lost a son."

  "This is not woman's business," he answered.

  Quite suddenly Niniane was furious. "You were able to claim this kingdom because of British help," she said, her voice shaking. "And you got British help because of me. You kept this kingdom, Ceawlin, because of British help. Were it not for Gereint and Ferris providing shelter for you, Cutha would have caught and killed you. Do not dare to tell me this is not my business. Everything that affects you and my sons is my business. And I tell you now you are making a mistake."

  His eyes narrowed to blue-green slits. He was as angry as she was. "When someone crowns you king, you can make the decisions," he said. "Until that time, I rule, and I say the marriage will go forward. I do not want to hear your voice on the subject again."

  Niniane tried to talk to Meghan. "Do you not see, Meghan," she said as the two women met in the king's hall to plan the marriage ceremony, "this marriage is a danger to Cedric. He will never be able to live safely at Dynas, not with Coinmail's enmity. It would be much better to choose a nice Saxon girl for him to marry."

  But Meghan was no help. "Bertred says this is a splendid match for Cedric," she said to Niniane. "The girl is an heiress of the kind not often given to younger sons. It is an opportunity for Cedric to establish himself on a much larger scale than we could have hoped for. Bertred is determined that the marriage should go forward."

  "Meghan," Niniane tried again, "think. You are a Briton. You must understand how this marriage will divide the kingdom. Ceawlin's British subjects have proven their loyalty to him again and again, but never has he asked them to choose between Wessex and their own people. All that will be changed if Coinmail takes up this challenge."

  "Bertred says it will be all right," said Meghan, and that, for her, it seemed, was that. Niniane's love for her husband was not so blind. Ceawlin could make a mistake. True, he made very few, but this was one of them. She knew it. And he would not listen to her.

  She tried Crida. He listened with more patience than Ceawlin. "I understand what you are saying, Mother," he said when she had finished. "But what you don't understand is that Father has no choice in this matter. He cannot allow your brother to outface him. You worry that he will lose the allegiance of his British subjects if he goes to war against Coinmail. I tell you this: he will lose the respect of his Saxon subjects if he does not."

  It seemed to Niniane supremely ironic that now, after all these years, after she had long ceased to worry about Coinmail as a potential threat to Ceawlin, the confrontation had come. She had let herself be lulled into complacency these last peaceful years in
Winchester. The kingdom was prosperous. Her children were strong and healthy. Ceawlin was content.

  How happy her world had been. How foolish she had been to rest secure, to forget. She felt, obscurely, as if this challenge by Coinmail was her fault, as if for all those years she had kept him at bay simply by worrying about him, fearing him. Once she had forgotten, had let him slip to the back of her mind, it was as if she had set him loose to do as he chose.

  She had not been happy when first she learned of the betrothal between Bertred's son and the heiress to Dynas. She had lived among the Saxons for so long that in some ways she had taken on their colors, but still she was a Briton. Dynas was in Dumnonia, and no Saxon had ever gained a foothold in Dumnonia. No Briton would rejoice at this marriage. In approving it, Ceawlin had given Coinmail the very rallying call he had always lacked. Dumnonia was the very heartland of Celtic Briton. Dumnonia was where Arthur had built Camelot. Dumnonia and Wales were the only places in Britain where Saxon feet had never trodden. Coinmail would be able to rally the Britons to fight for Dumnonia.

  * * * *

  It was raining. Niniane sat at the window of her sleeping room and stared out at the gray day. Her body felt heavy and dull as her mood. She was with child again and was just getting over weeks of morning sickness. Now she just felt tired.

  In the end, brave soldier, death will defeat you. The line had been running around and around in her head ever since the banquet the previous night. The actual marriage was to take place tomorrow in the old Christian church in Venta, but last night had been a traditional Saxon banquet to honor the bride and bridegroom. Alric had sung one of his greatest compositions, the story of an old Scandinavian hero from deep in the Saxon past. It was a song Niniane had heard before, but last night it had made a great impression upon her.

  "Avoid pride, great hero." The lines that Niniane could not forget came toward the end of the song, when the hero, after many great deeds, returned home to his own people and received the advice of his king. "Now you are at the height of your strength," the old king cautioned the young adventurer. "But it will not be long before sickness or the sword, or the blaze of fire, or the raging sea, a thrust of the knife or a whizzing arrow, will rob you of your might. In the end, brave soldier, death will defeat you."