He pushed her finger tips into his stomach and slid them up to his ribs.
“Well,” she said, amazed. “I do not want to kill you anymore.”
She closed her eyes and surrendered her lips, and he bent over her again and gently sucked on their fullness.
“Good,” he whispered.
The only disappointment that the change of weather brought was when Owain was called away to the Kingdom of Dumnonnia.
The morning of Owain's departure, Leola was surprised to see him come into the bath house.
“I'm not dressed,” she said.
“Yea,” Owain replied, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips.
There he stood, fully covered and wearing what she was sure was her half weight in clothing and armor, and she had nothing on but the smooth towel that she clung to her wet skin.
Owain spoke some Brythonic words to the servant women, and they scurried off out the door.
“I'm going to Dumnonnia now,” Owain said to Leola. “I must see the newly made King Cadfan.”
King Cadfan? From where do I know that name?
“How long will you be gone?” Leola asked.
“I know not,” he replied. “I pray it be only a few days.”
Leola nodded.
She knew from the hesitation on his face that he was sure the trip would last much longer but that he hoped that these suspicions proved false.
“I have sent Annon back to Gloui,” Owain said.
Leola was glad at this, for although she did not mind the boy's company, she thought that he preferred the excitement of the busy capital and the training of the soldiers over the quiet domestic life that engulfed the castle at Caer Baddan. King Irael reading his ancient books, Gratianna strumming the harp, Leola sewing embroidery, and the babies cooing at each other, did not offer the kind of thrill that Annon apparently longed for.
“He shall be happier there while you are gone,” Leola replied.
Owain cradled her head in his broad hands.
“When I return, tell me if you are healed,” he whispered.
Leola thought her heart fluttered little wings within her breast.
“I shall,” she gasped.
She was determined to be.
A two day journey and much precaution brought Owain southeast to Dore the Capital of the Dumnonni people. He greeted the newly crowned King of the Dumnonni but regarded the man with some suspicion.
“You are King Tudwal's nephew, Sir,” Owain said, then the two men where alone.
“Ie,” King Cadfan replied. “Trust me, Dominae. I was not privy to all of the king’s secrets. I did not know that he had tried to have you assassinated. I would have tried to stop him.”
Owain did not believe a word of it, for he had always felt something in Cadfan that caused him to question anything the man said. Perhaps it was that King Cadfan's position in the Isca clan seemed to make him informed of that people's doings. Maybe it was King Tudwal's reliance on his own family that would have made the king confide in his younger brother's son. Perchance it was that evil glint in the new king's eyes that made everything that came off his tongue the subject of dispute.
Owain decided to write his father on the details to see what he thought.
“King Tudwal's own son Gadeon is Prince of the Dumnonni,” Owain said. “Why is it that you were made king and not he?”
“Prince Gadeon is but a boy,” King Cadfan replied. “He cannot rule the kingdom. He shall when he is grown, but until then, I must do what I can.”
Owain nodded. “So when the prince is twenty, you shall relinquish the power to him?” he asked.
“God willing, before that,” King Cadfan replied.
Owain doubted these words as well. He was increasingly certain that King Cadfan would find some strange excuse to retain rule that should have never been his in the first place.
“I have long desired this feud between our clans to cease, Dominae,” the king said.
“As have I,” Owain replied.
“If you wish for something to be accomplished, you must do it by your own hands.”
Owain felt these words were as much prophetical as they were proverbial.
King Cadfan extended his right hand to Owain. “Here is mine hand in peace.”
“And here is mine,” Owain replied.
He took the Dumnonni king's hand and grasped it in his own, yet his caution towards the new king was now far greater than it had been before.
As Owain was leaving Dore, a messenger road up towards him.
“For the Dominae!” the man cried.
Owain accepted the letter and told Leir to pay the messenger. As he read, Owain felt the fire burning within him.
The Angle had returned to Ebrauc and burned down Parisi villages. As always, the neighboring Brigantae would not send aid, thus King Vindi begged him to assist.
Owain took two of the knights with him aside.
“Ride straight away to Caer Gloui,” he said. “Tell the centurions and Prince Annon to march at once to the North Counrty to Ebrauc. Then go to Caer Aracon Capital of Ewyas and tell Prince Swale that the Angles are devastating the Parisi.”
The knights were off at once.
“Where to now, Master?” Leir asked.
Owain thought hard on what he should do. He had a duty to perform in Gewisland yet he was also called to protect the Britannae people from invasion. If he tarried but a moment, the Parisi people might all die.
“We go to Venta Capital of Atrebat,” Owain said, deciding. “And then we go to war.”
Chapter Fifty Two: To War, To War
A half day’s hard ride brought his small traveling party to the City of Venta.
“Euginius! My nephew!” Queen Severa cried, when she saw him striding up the steps of the castle. “You really are alive!”
“I am, Aunt,” Owain replied. “Very much so.”
He had to be amused at the thought, for he could not imagine Britu inventing his resurrection for any reason.
His aunt kissed him twice and pulled him inside.
“You must be hungry after your journey,” she said. “I shall order a boar.”
“No. I thank you, no,” he replied. “I cannot take meat. I was starving too long to have heavy food now. Porridge or greens for me.”
“Both.”
After giving the order to the servants she brought him into one of the sitting rooms and poured them some wine.
“Britu said that your back hurts,” she said.
“Still,” Owain said, thinking of the twisting pain in his spine. “It does all the time. I believe it shall hurt forever and am now reconciled to that.”
“And the...”
Owain laughed at her hesitation.
“The scars, Aunt,” he supplied, his voice giving neither malice nor grief.
“Do they hurt as well?” the queen asked, her green eyes filled will concern.
“No, not the scars,” he said, touching his mouth and cheek. “They itch sometimes, but they do not hurt. Or at least, they no longer hurt.”
“That is a relief to hear,” she replied. “There have been too many rumors going about, I knew not what to think.”
“That is the way with death.”
Owain smiled on his doting aunt. He felt that she wished to compensate for the loss of his mother. She was always like that, helping and caring for others. He wondered why she didn’t fall over with exhaustion.
“And that girl?” Queen Severa said.
“What girl?” Owain asked.
“The Gewissae.”
“Leola,” Owain replied. “She is very well.”
He wondered why his aunt did not seem to want to say his wife's name.
“Then,” the queen said, “you are… still married to her?”
“I am,” and he frowned. “Is that one of the rumors? That I am no longer married?”
“Among other things,” she replied.
“That is simple nonsense, Aunt,” he said, and l
aughed again. “Do not waste your energy on that.”
“Of course not,” she said. “Where are you off to then?”
He felt that this last thought of hers was more like a forced change of subject than something she had wished to discuss.
“The North Country again,” Owain replied. “Ebrauc, specifically.”
“Oh? This talk about the Parisi? I hope it is all false. The idea that they fell to some barbaric Angles is quite disturbing.”
Owain found it humorous how she would expect the Parisi people to beat the Angles who were far more numerous then they, simply because the Parisi were more civilized.
“I hope that Britu shall join me,” Owain said.
“Well, I sent word to him the moment I heard you were arrived,” she said. “I'm certain he shall be here soon.”
“Thank you, Aunt.”
He noticed Lady Scothnoe standing in the door way, staring at him.
“Ah, Scothnoe! Come in, my darling,” Queen Severa said. “You remember your cousin, Prince Euginius.”
“Of course,” the girl replied. “God keep you,” and she came in and sat by her mother. “I hope you are well.”
Her words were polite but showed no special interest.
“I am. Thank you,” he replied.
“Scothnoe has been appointed warrioress companion,” the queen said.
“Congratulations, Clanswoman,” Owain said.
“Thank you,” Lady Scothnoe said.
“It is a great honor for just sixteen,” said her proud mother.
“I is,” the girl replied. “Another lady was before me but she got sick.”
She did not smile on him with large open eyes or ask him endless questions, and soon excused herself from the room.
Owain knew that he had enjoyed the girl’s attentions, but now that those attentions were removed, he found that he did not miss them. Perhaps the Owain of the past, free form burn scars and chronic back pain, would have been horrified to be so easily forgotten, but Owain felt he was made anew, and his new self did not mind.
He must have drifted into his own thoughts for his aunt's words soon forced him out of them.
“Are you well, Euginius?” the queen asked, her brow knotted in concern.
“I am,” he said. “Very much so.”
“I'm really unsure about that Gewissae girl,” Queen Severa said, hesitating. “I wonder you did not choose an earlmann's daughter.”
Owain smiled over his aunt's selfish concern, but her words did made him think on something he had hardly dwelt on before.
He remembered entering the Saxon great hall and searching the huddled beings for one woman he wasn't even sure was there or what she might look like if she was.
“There were no earlmanns' daughters,” he said.
He was completely certain of this for he doubted that such women would disguise themselves in the garb of commoners and thus risk being sold as slaves.
“I know that she has a pretty face,” his aunt said, as if begrudgingly.
“She does,” Owain replied. “But I noticed her first because she crossed herself. My mother was very devout and always did that, so I saw it in Leola.”
He saw that the queen was very surprised by these words and wondered if she had even known that Leola was Christian.
“She was very lovely to look on,” Owain continued, wondering what his aunt's purpose for the conversation were. “Strong and brave. I could see that as well.”
“I suppose,” the queen said, still hesitating.
“And she had honest eyes.”
“I suppose...”
“But perhaps the most reason I had for picking her was that she could not escape me. She could not even try.”
“What do you mean?” his aunt asked.
Owain thought on Leola's words to him a few days before and the sad truth of them.
“Leola had twisted her ankle and limped,” Owain replied. “She could hardly walk, much less run from me. She really had no choice but to be my wife. It was selfish, domineering, and manipulative of me, and yet it seems she has forgiven me for it.”
Queen Severa appeared struck by these words, as if Owain opening up his own thoughts to her had revealed something of herself.
“I suppose she has a very good heart then,” she said, in amazement.
“She does,” Owain replied. “She has a very beautiful heart.”
Britu arrived when Owain was finished eating.
“Are we going to the North Country?” he asked, without wasting a breath.
“We are, Britu,” Owain replied. “Annon is with the Army. They shall take the road northeast through Pengwern. I have also sent word to Swale and he shall meet them there if he can. We are taking the northern road.”
“Through Lerion?” Britu asked.
“Exactly.”
“Why the hurry?” his cousin asked. “Why not meet the Army in Pengwern?”
“I doubt the Parisi shall last the week,” Owain said.
“I see,” Britu replied. “My things are still packed. We can leave within the hour if you wish.”
“Now?” Owain asked.
He was eager to be gone for the longer he waited the more he could hear the battle cries calling to his heart.
“Right now, to be sure,” Britu said.
“Excellent.”
They went out to the courtyard to the assembled caravan and were soon on their way to Lerion.
A three-day ride up the northern highway proved efficient only because they did not stop to visit their clansmen in the Kingdom of Lerion. Owain knew that the rest of the Andoco, including Lerion’s renowned ruler, King Iorwert, would not be offended by their haste. Nonetheless, he resolved to greet them properly on the return trip in the next month.
On the evening the third day, they made their way east to Petuaria Capital of the Parisi people. The city was in high alert when they arrived.
One of the knights with Owain asked of a busy city guard, and he hastily gave them directions to follow the dirt road until they met the shore.
“The Angles are camped on the beach, Dominae,” the knight said. “King Vindi has taken the Parisi army out to meet them. The guards are evacuating the city.”
As Owain scanned the commotion, he knew that the guards had under half the time they required to clear the houses and shops of people, animals, and valuable goods. The Angle must not be allowed to attack the city.
“The Angle will see us from the road,” Owain said. “We shall take the forest.”
“You know these woods?” Britu asked.
They were far more south then Owain had ever remembered being in Ebrauc but he felt secure that he could find their way to the beach.
“I shall decipher them,” he replied.
They went on, leaving the dirt road for a slow windy way through the thick of the woods. Owain leading, Britu after, and their knights and servants following. Their stout ponies did not mind the terrain, but the knights grew cautious of the unfamiliar land around them, lest some Angle scout should jump out of the trees and slay them.
Owain smelled the salty air of the open sea and heard the taunting yells of a sure victory before the forest opened into a grassy field.
The Angle camp lay just before them, and at the far north of it, the Angle warriors assembling for battle.
“The Angle look to be five thousand,” Britu said.
“And the Parisi look to be one thousand,” Owain replied, his eyes glancing over the Angles’ line at the defending Parisi.”
“How long shall it take the Army to arrive?” Britu asked.
“Two more days if they obey orders,” Owain said. “We must stop this battle from taking place. Who is daring?”
“I am, Dominae,” one of the knights replied and three others then agreed.
“You shall come with me,” Owain said. “The rest of you get back into the forest cover and keep the ponies.”
“You cannot go out to five thousand warriors, Owain
!” Britu cried.
Owain was amused at his cousin's horror.
“I climbed into the Attacotti hillfort, Clansman,” he said. “I’m not afraid to face the Angle.”
“Then I shall go with you,” Britu replied.
“Good.”
They lit eight torches and entered the side of the Angle camp. They brushed the burning ends against the few erected tents and all of the folded bedding on that end of the camp.
“Healtest!” a voice cried. “Stop!”
Some of the warriors at the far rear of the Angle line had turned around to see them. These warriors yelled out and hurled a storm of missiles at them.
“Run!” Owain cried.
Britu and the knights dropped the torches and ran back to the forest to their waiting party. Owain’s quick feet turned to follow, but a darting pain shot up and down his back.
“Ugh!” he cried.
He dropped one of the torches and pushed on his back as far as he could reach. His effort to relieve the pain turned fruitless as the whole of his scaled back plate was too stiff to move inward from pressure. Press as he did, it only made his hand sore.
“Docga of a Britisc!” he heard an Angle voice cry.
One nimble warrior caught up to Owain where he had stopped. The Angle was tanned, and blond, and as young as Annon, and his long sword was ready to fight.
“Call me a dog, do you?” Owain said in Saxon. “Fight me then.”
He pushed the flaming end of the torch close to the young warrior’s face and drew out his own sword to attack. The Angle blocked his fire with his round painted shield and struck at Owain. Owain knocked the warrior’s sword away and sliced though his exposed shoulder.
“Owain!” Britu cried. “Get out of there! Run!” He turned to the knights with him. “Get out your arrows and shoot!”
The knights hastened to obey and shot over Owain onto the advancing Angle.
“Run, Owain!” Britu cried.
Owain dropped the torch and holding his back, he limped into the forest. The servants seized his arms and hoisted him up onto his mount.
“Ride! Ride!” Britu cried.
They went off just as the Angle warriors reached the edge of the forest. The Angle chased them and shot arrows at their fleeing backs, even as their war ponies galloped off into the thick of the woods.
The Beast of Caer Baddan Page 36