Born of the Sun (18 page)

Such a farm was Naille’s, situated four miles to the west of Bryn Atha in a rich, fertile valley. As Niniane rode into the farmyard, a flock of geese screeched and flapped, and the chestnut gelding jumped in surprise. Niniane had dismounted and was calming the horse with reassuring pats when a little girl of about four peeked out the front door of the low stone house.

“Hello, Isolde,” Niniane said. The little girl’s brown eyes widened when she heard her name from the stranger. “Is your mother home?”

The little girl turned back into the house, and in less than a minute a woman with two toddlers clinging to her skirts came to the door. She squinted a little into the sun.

“Hello, Alanna,” said Niniane, coming toward her. “It’s Niniane.”

“Niniane!” The woman came down the step and into the farmyard. “Good heavens, Niniane! My dear child! Whatever are you doing here?”

Niniane came to give the woman the kiss of greeting. “I got back to Bryn Atha yesterday,” she said with a smile.

“But we thought you were with the Saxons!”

“I was, until two days ago.”

“Dear God in heaven.” Alanna flapped her hand. “Tie your horse to the hitching post, my dear, and come into the house.” She turned to the little girl. “Isolde, go fetch your father from the fields. Tell him that Niniane is here.” Then, as the little girl hesitated: “Go on, now.” Isolde turned and ran out of the farmyard.

Alanna picked up one of the toddlers, who had fallen down the steps and was crying. “Come into the kitchen,” she said to Niniane. “Naille will be here shortly.” Niniane picked up the other, larger toddler and followed Alanna inside.

“I thought I would find Coinmail at Bryn Atha,” Niniane said as soon as she was sitting in a chair before the kitchen hearth and drinking a glass of goat’s milk.

“But, Niniane—however did you escape from the Saxons? Coinmail said they were going to marry you to their prince!”

“They were, but he got killed.” Niniane leaned a little forward in her chair. “Alanna, where is Coinmail?”

“He went to your mother’s brother, near Glevum.”

That was what Geara had said, so it must be true. Niniane’s delicate brows were puzzled. “But why, Alanna? Bryn Atha is deserted. Has he gone for good?”

“Of course not. I think I had better let Naille tell you about it, though.” The woman’s lined face wore an expression of mixed eagerness and concern. “But you … are you all right, Niniane?”

Niniane read with accuracy the question in Alanna’s eyes.“Yes, I am all right. I am married.”

“Married? But I thought you said …”

“I am not married to Prince Edwin. He was killed before we could be wed. I am married to another man, a Saxon who helped me when I was in Winchester. We escaped together.”

“You have brought a Saxon to Bryn Atha?”

“He had to leave Winchester, Alanna. You see, he was the one who killed Prince Edwin. He did it for me, because he knew I was so fearful of marrying the prince. So you see …”

But Alanna was crossing herself and muttering a prayer under her breath. Niniane folded her lips. “A Saxon at Bryn Atha,” Alanna said again. “Wait until Naille hears.”

“He is alone, Alanna. He cannot hurt you. And he is my husband.”

Alanna’s brown eyes looked piercingly into Niniane’s. “Do you know about Beranbyrg?”

“Beranbyrg? Yes. I’m afraid I do know.”

“It was fearful. Many men died. The barbarians … they overwhelmed our men … butchered them …”

Niniane was becoming annoyed. “I understood that they offered mercy to Coinmail. That was certainly not the act of a butcher.”

Alanna shrugged, then went back to the part of Niniane’s story that most interested her. “You say you are married. By a priest?”

“No. There was no priest at Winchester. We were married in a Saxon rite.”

“Then there is no marriage,” the woman said firmly.

“What is all this about a marriage? By God, it is Niniane.” It was Naille coming in the kitchen door, a tall, thin, brown-faced man with stooping shoulders.

Niniane repeated the story she had told his wife. Naille’s face was grim when she had finished.

“How did your … husband kill the Saxon prince?”

“In a duel. That is the way the Saxons settle their feuds.”

“Very civilized,” said Naille with heavy sarcasm.

Niniane started to explain that dueling was really a sport, then stopped. She said instead, “Naille, why did Coinmail go to my uncle?”

The man sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. His wife put a cup of beer before him. He swiveled it in his fingers and said to Niniane, “We were defeated at Beranbyrg. You must know that.”

“Yes.”

“Well, after Beranbyrg Coinmail realized that we Atrebates could not fight the Saxons by ourselves. To be successful we must combine with other tribes. That is what Arthur did, Niniane. He brought all the tribes of Britain together into one army to fight the Saxons. And that is why he was successful.”

“I don’t understand,” Niniane said. “I thought Coinmail had sworn not to take up arms against the West Saxons again. I heard he had so sworn in exchange for his life.”

Naille shrugged. “What value in a promise given to a pagan?” But he did not meet her eyes.

Niniane was surprised by the outrage that swept through her. Her brother was planning to break his oath. It did not help to reflect that such a possibility had not even occurred to any of the “pagans” he was planning to betray. To the Saxons, an oath was sacred.

“I see,”
she said at last in a hard, tight voice.

“We were so horrified when we learned you had been taken,” Naille said, changing the subject. “Coinmail was furious. He had told you to go to Geara’s farm.”

“I know, but Kerwyn was ill.” Niniane looked up from the scarred wood table she had been contemplating. “Do you mean to tell me that Coinmail wants to form a combined army from the two tribes?”

“Yes.”

“Then he will only kill more good men. Listen to me, Naille. I was two years in Winchester and I can tell you that we will not beat the Saxons. I saw what manner of people they are. They are warriors there, not farmers like us. It would be wisest for us to make peace with them.”

“Peace,” said Naille. “What do they know of peace?” Then he frowned. “What is this Winchester you keep mentioning, Niniane?”

“The West Saxon king has built himself a great capital on the outskirts of Venta, Naille. It is a great enclosed enclave with full fifteen halls within. Great wooden buildings, all hung with gold. The West Saxons will not be easily dislodged from this country, Naille. Coinmail will not be able to do it.”

“We shall see,” said Naille. Then he leaned his forehead on his hand. “Beranbyrg was very bad. You are right when you say we are unused to war.” He raised his head and looked at her. “Where is this Saxon ‘husband’?”

“I left him at Bryn Atha. I did not think it wise to bring him here.”

“You were right. Wait here with Alanna while I gather some men to deal with this woman-corrupter.”

“No!
You don’t understand, Naille. I don’t want you to do anything to him. He is my husband.”

He searched her eyes. “I understand,” he said at last, grimly. “But it was not by your consent, Niniane. We all know that. The tribe will stand behind you, never fear.”

“No, you
don’t
understand. I went to him willingly.”

There was a very long silence. As Niniane well knew, the Romano-British law on the subject of the abduction of a virgin was quite clear. The punishment for a man who took a woman against her will was death or castration. The woman, though she was not at fault, was deemed corrupted and thus unmarriageable, although she was still entitled to the protection of her father or other male guardian. If the woman were proved willing, then the man could make reparation by paying a fine to her father.

“Think,” Naille said finally.

“I have. He saved me from Winchester, Naille. But for him, I would still be a prisoner of the Saxons. I owe him a great deal for that.”

“All right.” His shoulders stooped even more than usual and he got slowly to his feet. “We will leave it for now.”

“Thank you.” She rose as well. “Geara told me that Coinmail left all the livestock with you.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps you could let me have a cow, Naille? For milk. And some chickens?”

“You may have what you need to live on. The rest I hold in trust for your brother.”

“Thank you.”

“You will have to take them yourself. I have no time to spare. It is sowing season.”

“I know. I will come tomorrow with Ceawlin and take one cow and some chickens.”

Naille’s head came up, arrested. “Ceawlin?” he asked.

“It is a common name among the Saxons,” she answered, her heart hammering.

Naille nodded, then scowled, clearly torn between having to go out of his way to deliver the livestock and having to tolerate a Saxon on his land. Finally: “All right. Come tomorrow,” he said.

Niniane smiled. “Thank you, Naille. You are very good.”

Clouds had come in to cover the sun as she rode back toward Bryn Atha, but she scarcely noticed the change in weather, so deep was she in her own thoughts.

Coinmail was going to try to raise another army against the Saxons. What in the name of God was she going to tell Ceawlin? What was it going to mean for Ceawlin?

She had forgotten how deep was the British fear of the Saxons. Living among them in Winchester, she had come to realize that they were people like herself, albeit people who held to a different set of beliefs. But they were human, as she was. As human as Naille or Alanna.

Cutha had thought that Ceawlin might be able to find allies among the Atrebates. Ceawlin had thought the same. That was why he had married her. Even she had thought Ceawlin might be able to forge a bridge of peace between the two peoples.

She had forgotten how deep the fear went.

You
have brought a Saxon to Bryn Atha?

She had indeed brought a Saxon to Bryn Atha. What in the name of God was she going to do with him?

Give it time, she thought as she rode along the forest track that led back to Bryn Atha. Perhaps, once they had a chance to know him, the fear would lessen. She had little doubt that the best thing for her people would be for them to make peace with the Saxons. She had seen the military drills at Winchester, the weapon practice. The Atrebates would never be able to stand against the Saxon thanes.

She was not betraying her own people by harboring a Saxon prince in their midst, she thought as she rode in through the villa gate. She was acting in their best interest. If the Atrebates threw in their lot with Ceawlin, and Ceawlin became king, he would owe them a debt. Surely that would be the wisest course of all.

She dismounted in the courtyard and took the gelding around to the stable. As she came through the small fenced-in yard that fronted the stable, she saw him. He had tied Bayvard to the fence and was brushing him. As Niniane closed the gate behind her, the sun found an opening in the clouds and broke through, glinting off the bay horse’s dark winter coat and touching Ceawlin’s hair. He heard her and his head snapped around.

“Where were you?” he said angrily. He dropped the brush and began to walk toward her.

Her own step hesitated fractionally, then went forward again. “I went to see Naille,” she answered.

“You went to see Naille? Without me? You told me he was not to be found at home.” His eyes were bright with temper.

“I know. I’m sorry. But you don’t understand how the Atrebates feel about Saxons, Ceawlin. You were likely to get a knife in your heart. I had to see how things were. Surely you can understand that?”

“No. I told you I would come with you. You deliberately went against my wishes.”

Niniane clucked to Ruist and began to walk the horse toward the stable. “I know. I know. I did it for your own good.”

“I am perfectly capable of knowing my own good.”

“Ceawlin.” She tied the horse to the fence and began to unbuckle the saddle girth. “Don’t you want to know what became of Coinmail?”

He gave her a long, hard look. “I don’t like it when people go behind my back,” he said at last.

She busied herself with the girth. If he should find out the truth about Coinmail … “I’m sorry,” she said meekly. “I won’t do it again.”

He came to lift the saddle off the horse’s back for her. “Better not.” He took the saddle into the stable and hung it on the wooden pole they used as a saddle rack. Then he came back outside. “All right. Tell me. What has happened to Coinmail?”

“It’s as I thought. He’s gone to Glevum to marry a girl of the Dobunni. I was to have made a marriage to the Dobunni myself, before I was taken captive to Winchester.”

“The marriage you did make is much better.”

The dimple at the corner of her mouth flickered. “Do you think so?”

He grunted. “What about the livestock?”

“Naille will give us a cow and some chickens. We must go to his farm tomorrow to fetch them.”

“So he is not planning to put a knife in my heart?”

“Not just now. I told him my touching story about how you rescued me from Edwin.”

He looked disgusted. “Niniane, that story is sickening.”

“I like it. I might even make a song about it.”

His eyes widened. “Don’t you dare!”

She laughed and began to hum. “Let me see. ‘In Winchester …” He feinted a move toward her and she yipped and fled to the other side of the chestnut, putting the horse between them. “All right. I won’t.”

“Better not. I got a deer today.”

“Wonderful. Venison stew for dinner. And I had better see about baking some bread.”

“A very good idea.” His voice was distinctly sarcastic. “I have had nothing to eat since breakfast.”

“Will you take care of Ruist for me?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Did you butcher the deer?”

“Yes. And my clothes got bloody. I left them in the bedroom for you to wash.”

“How nice.”

Niniane went back to the villa and began to pile charcoal into the oven. But no matter how busy her hands, she could not keep the discovery she was trying to avoid from coming back again and again to her mind. It was something she had learned in that brief moment’s hesitation before she answered Ceawlin in the stableyard, a realization that was not at all comfortable. It was not for the sake of her people alone that she was protecting the Saxon prince.