The Beast of Caer Baddan

by Rebecca Vaughn

  He hated to admit that Leola was correct in her assessment of him, even if it was a silent acknowledgment to himself. Yet the truth was there. He loved killing. He loved war. He loved violence.

  The most unsatisfying part about the truth was that it had nothing to do with Donwy. He had loved war long before he had seen its aftermath. He had loved violence because he had been an angry young boy venting his frustration over strict, unwavering parents.

  Now looking back on his youth, Britu felt the cold sting of shame. His actions had been childish at best and tyrannical at worse.

  “What a fool I am,” he said aloud to himself. “What an utter fool.”

  King Irael snored.

  The loud crash of thunder rang in the window shutters.

  “Push, Princess,” came the commanding voice of the midwife.

  Leola moaned.

  She thought her whole body must be torn into a thousand pieces.

  Please don't let me die!

  “Push, Princess,” the midwife said.

  She knew the midwife's voice continued steadily on, but it seemed to grow faint as if in the distance. Leola was certain that she, herself, was screaming, but did not hear the sound. Even the thunder raging outside no longer touched her ears.

  The whole world went dead around her.

  Leola felt her breath rushing out of her lungs, her abdomen tighten, and a frigid sweat run down her burning forehead.

  Owain saw the sorrow in the old woman's eyes as she held up the garment for him to see.

  “Your tunic,” she said.

  Her voice was soft and low, like the autumn wind.

  “Ie,” he replied.

  It was his very soul. He had given it up willingly for his people as a prince must do. He had surrendered himself to his fate and hoped that his mother would see the sacrifice.

  And now the old woman held up the tunic in her aged hands so he could see it clean and fresh, fit for a new life.

  Owain prayed it would go to his son, so that his father's line might continue on, and that his task in Albion, fighting invaders and uniting the kings, might be completed. It did not bother him that he should not see the end of his work. He knew that all things were connected and that one generation picks up there another leaves off.

  Thus he watched with quiet confident eyes.

  The old woman walked up and handed the garment out to him.

  “Take it,” she said.

  “I cannot,” he said, and he felt his surprise was revealed in his usually cautious voice.

  “You must.”

  Owain hesitated, not sure whether it was possible, but the assurance in her eyes willed him on. His fingers found their way to the top of the garment, and it felt soft and light like downy feathers under his touch. With renewed daring, he grasped the tunic in his hands and slipped it over his head and covered his bleeding body.

  At once, the wound closed up and the blood disappeared.

  Leola knew she must be breathing, but no longer felt the air enter and exit her lungs. She knew that the midwife must also be talking, commanding her to push harder, but no voice made it to her ears. The was no sound at all but a strange ringing in her head.

  Then, as if her ears had popped, the room filled with noise.

  “There, Princess,” came the midwife's reassuring tone. “Here's the first one.”

  “Water! Towel!” cried one of the servants.

  “Got him,” said another. “First born.”

  “Tie it on his wrist.”

  “Now the second, Princess,” the midwife said to Leola. “Push.”

  “Mam!” Owain cried.

  He sat up with a violent start and flailed his arms in all directions. They struck something hard above and around him. The air was thick and stifling as if it were dead, and there was the foul odor of urine and sweat.

  He heard the fierce rumble of the thunder clap, amongst the howling of the wind and beating of the rain.

  Owain's eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness that surrounded him. He saw the coarse bedding where he sat and the thick mud walls of a tiny hut that surrounded him.

  He was neither in heaven nor in Hades, but on Earth.

  Owain was very much alive.

  Chapter Thirty Five: Blessings

  The room spun around as if in some wild frenzy.

  Leola felt the midwife’s assistants lift her up and take her to her bed.

  She heard the joyous voice of Gytha, squealing with glee.

  “They are two boys, Mistress!” the girl cried. “They look very well!”

  Leola just lay there and wept, letting all of the fear and anguish of the last few months wash out of her heart.

  Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

  For that was as much as she could think.

  Her whole body was numb from pain. She thought inside of her must be on fire, but the surface of her skin was cold and wet.

  She felt the servants wrapping her up in blankets and wiping her face with cool water.

  “Look, Mistress,” came Gytha’s excited voice. “Here they are.”

  Leola pealed her eyes opened to see the midwife’s assistants laying two babies by her side. They were red and wrinkled and the tiniest children Leola had ever seen. They moaned and whimpered, their eyes closed and their little fists pulled up to their faces.

  “Oh,” she said through her tears. “They are perfect.”

  Her weary hands touched their round cheeks and fuzzy hair, still damp from their first bath.

  “They have red hair!” she gasped.

  She laughed and wept.

  God is good.

  As the soft little babies nuzzled on her breast, Leola felt her whole heart swell up with happiness. They were so perfect, so beautiful, so wonderful. The agony of the last few months seemed to melt away into oblivion. These tiny beings were worth everything that she had endured. Nothing would ever be too much to sacrifice for them.

  I never thought it would be like this.

  Gentle tears filled her eyes.

  The servants dragged in a wide shallow bucket that they placed on the floor by Leola's bed. More entered with pitchers of warm water, and Gytha carried in a stack of fresh towels.

  Leola sniffed the air as the steam filled the room with the pleasant aroma of crushed lavender.

  Two other women took the babies from Leola's arms.

  “They are the nurses, Mistress,” Gytha said.

  Nurses?

  It never occurred to Leola that anyone but herself would be taking care of her babies. But then she was a princess now, and that fact made everything different.

  “Mistress,” the nurses said in Latin.

  The servant women lifted Leola from the bed and stood her up in the center of the shallow bucket. They then poured the water over her breast and back, washing the blood and sweat away.

  Leola was so exhausted that she did not care that they were washing her. The warm water felt good on her sensitive skin and the lavender seemed to heal her secret chamber.

  So there is an advantage to being an aetheling's wife.

  She was sure that although her aunt would have cared for her in her labor, Redburga could not have washed her, nor could her young cousins have looked after the babies for any given length of time. Leola would have had to do a great deal herself after giving birth to twins.

  As the servants dried Leola off, others came in and took the blankets, now stained with blood where Leola had lain down, and replaced them with clean ones.

  One servant woman found the knife with the ring tied to it by the red chord, and moved them aside to the table.

  As Leola's eyes fell on these things, her thoughts went wild.

  She saw Owain again in her mind as vividly as if he were walking in through the doorway to her bedroom. She felt his calloused hands gently cradle her cheeks as if she was a fine crystal.

  Leola was now certain that he had walked into the mead hall looking for a wife. He had searched the hall for someone to m
ake his princess and picked her from over two hundred other women. He had chosen her over taller women, prettier women, women with larger eyes and softer hands. She really didn't care why he had done so. She was glad he had.

  She felt that he would have been proud of the babies and would have loved them, just as he seemed to have lavished affection so freely on Gratianna.

  “Gytha,” Leola said, as the servants laid her back down on the bed and wrapped new blankets around her. “Can you have Gratianna come in here? She shall wish to see her new brothers.”

  “Yea, Mistress,” Gytha replied, and she turned to another servant and gave the order.

  The child was soon there, her own nurse running in behind her.

  “Oh, Mama!” she squealed, and then with a cautious look towards her nurse, she lowered her voice to an excited whisper. “My babies! I want my babies!”

  The nurses laid the infants back down by Leola's side, and Leola beckoned the child to come and see. Gratianna climbed onto the bed and bent over her tiny brothers.

  “God keep you, Babies,” she whispered. “I am Gratianna, your sister.”

  Leola giggled.

  “They are so tiny,” the child said, in awe. “I thought they would be bigger.”

  “They shall grow,” Leola replied.

  “They are looking at me!” Gratianna gasped.

  Leola noticed that both of the infants peered up at their sister.

  “You look like Tada,” Gratianna said to one of them, “and you look like Mama,” she said to the other.

  Leola didn't know what the child meant by that, for the babies were so tiny and red, she doubted that anyone could tell if they looked like one parent or another.

  Gratianna's excitement over her new brothers soon exhausted the child so much that she curled up on the foot of the bed and fell asleep.

  Leola watched all three until a quiet peace flooded over her.

  She thought how unfulfilled she had been in Anlofton, and how empty she seemed in Holton before that. Now that she was the mother of three adorable children, for she felt that Gratianna was her own as well, she was both satisfied and at peace.

  Leola missed her aunt and cousins and wished that there was a way to get word to her so that she would know that she was well and that she had given birth. But she no longer had that grave longing in her heart.

  Wouldn't they be so pleased to see my sons? They are the most glorious creatures in all the world.

  Perhaps that was to be expected, for she was certain that Owain was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

  “Beauty.”

  That was what Owain had called her, with all of the affection and acceptance that that word entailed.

  With that last thought, she drifted off to sleep.

  “Da!” Owain cried, as if to escape some torture.

  “You are returned, I think, from under the earth, I think,” a voice said. “You were dead but now are back from the under-earth, you are. You must eat, you must.”

  Owain opened his eyes again to see an old hermit at the other end of the little hut. The hermit crawled over to where Owain sat on the sleeping mat and handed out a bowl to him.

  “You do not speak, I think,” the hermit said. “But try to eat, try.”

  The hermit laid the bowl into Owain's shaking hands.

  “Try,” he said, again.

  Owain took the wooden spoon and scooped up a mouthful of the porridge. He winced as he tried to swallow.

  “It is hot, I think,” the hermit said.

  Owain twisted his body in the hope of gaining a more comfortable position but a flooding pain filled his back.

  “Ugh!” he cried.

  His hands shook, and the hermit quickly took back the bowl lest Owain spill porridge all over.

  “You must rest, I think,” the hermit said. “Ie, rest. Rest.”

  Owain lay back down, but the pain seemed to consume his whole back.

  “Wha-” he gasped.

  But he could not form a question on his stiff lips.

  Leola did not know how long she had been dreaming but when she woke, Gytha brought her something to drink.

  “The master is here waiting to see you, Mistress,” Gytha said.

  Leola started at the word “master,” for it was the same title she had called Owain many months before.

  Gytha opened the door for King Irael and curtsied as he entered.

  “Are you well, Leola?” he asked, taking a chair by her bed.

  “I am, Father,” she replied.

  She lifted a weary hand and brushed the soft red fuzz on the babies' heads to one side.

  “They’re beautiful,” the king said.

  Leola thought she saw a hint of longing in his green eyes.

  “Aren’t they?” and she giggled. “I did not realize there were two of them.”

  The king laughed. “Your mother had twins, did she not?” he asked.

  “That is true,” Leola replied. “She did. And she was a twin herself. My aunt Redburga and my mother were.”

  “How fortunate we are.”

  “What’s this?” Leola asked, touching the purple cord that was tied around one baby’s right wrist.

  “He is the elder, the first born, the heir to the Kingdom of Glouia,” the king replied.

  An heir in place of your son.

  Leola noted the serenity and awe in his face, as he gazed down at the sleeping infants.

  “They look like Owain did when he was born,” he said, choking back tears. “Perhaps they are a little smaller and a little redder.”

  “Do you want to hold them?” she asked.

  “No, no. Not I,” the king said, putting both hands in defense.

  Leola thought his reaction odd but did not mention it.

  “My nephew, Prince Britu, has returned to Venta,” King Irael said. “So it shall be quiet for a few days.”

  Leola sighed in relief. She was too weary to even look on that man. She hoped it would be a long time before he visited Baddan once more.

  “You must get as much rest as you can before King Emrys and his wife Queen Madge arrive,” the king continued.

  “Who are they?” Leola asked.

  “They shall be the children’s godparents. King Emrys is renowned for his wisdom and charity, and Queen Madge is one of the most revered people in Albion. They have been good friends to me for over fifteen years.”

  A godparents then, as their father is gone and their grandfather ill.

  Leola did not wish to think about King Irael's impending death, but knew that she must be prepared for it, and powerful friends would be of the highest advantage.

  Something about the babies and her presence there, even her marriage, seemed to stare at her, demanding that she speak.

  “Father,” Leola said, choosing her words with care. “Did Owain marry me, hoping that I would bear him a son?”

  King Irael gave a long sigh and looked off into the empty space, before he slowly nodded his graying head.

  “He knew that he was to die and wanted me to have an heir,” he said at last.

  Leola let out a sigh of her own.

  “Does it hurt you to know?” he asked, his voice cautious and tender.

  “No,” Leola said, simply. “I know that he did not love me. I am not so naive as that.”

  Leola was positive that Owain could have taken any woman in that mead hall and had chosen her. Perhaps he had done so because her saw her crossed herself, or because her ankle was hurt, or because he really did like to look on her. Leola suspected that it had been a little of each and did not mind. He still would not have married her if he had thought her ugly or unpleasant.

  “Owain wanted a son, Father,” Leola said aloud. “He would be so pleased if he knew that he now has two.”

  “He would,” the king replied. “But, Leola, babies or not, I'm glad that he married you, and I'm pleased that you are here with Gratianna and I.”

  He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.


  “I shall let you rest, Daughter,” he said. “Sleep well.”

  “I shall.”

  He bent over her, kissed her on the top of her head, and went out.

  Leola lay back in her bed and closed her eyes.

  Even though Owain did not care for her, she felt fortunate that she was his wife.

  Chapter Thirty Six: Change

  When Britu arrived at the small fortress on the wall of the City of Venta, he noticed that the guards jump to attention.

  “Prince!” one said, taking his mount. “We were not expecting you!”

  “I was not expecting to come here,” Britu replied.

  The warden was brought immediately and expressed the same surprise.

  “Where is the Gewissae prisoner?” Britu asked.

  “Still confined,” the warden replied. “He gives us no trouble. Has the king sent for him?”

  “I have come to take him,” Britu said. “Show the way.”

  The warden brought him inside, down the passage ways, to the very last cell. The bar was lifted and the door opened for Britu to enter.

  He found a young man lying on the cot, a look of boredom on his handsome face. The man appeared to be strong, well nourished, and in reasonable spirits, and Britu felt relieved by this knowledge.

  “I am Britu Prince of Atrebat,” Britu said.

  As he spoke, he thought how silly he was, talking to a Gewissae without a translator, but then he noticed in the younger man's eyes that he understood his words.

  “Who are you?” Britu asked.

  “Why do you ask?” the prisoner replied. “So you can execute me?”

  Leola had spoken Latin to Britu but her speech was halted and she had not pronounced all of the sounds correctly. But this man before him was schooled like any Britannae prince. His speech was impeccable.

  “You are the Prince of the Gewissae,” Britu said.

  “What if I am?” the man asked.