Born of the Sun (60 page)

“He thinks it is the best way to protect the property.” Coinmail’s lips were thin. “He is a fool.”

“With the annexation of Wight, Wessex will extend from the Narrow Sea to the Aildon hills.” Condidan’s bushy graying brows were drawn together. “And once Ceawlin gets a foothold in Dumnonia …”

“Wales will be next.” Farinmail’s thin dark face was grim.

Condidan’s frown deepened. “He has shown no signs of warlike intent.”

Coinmail answered. “He has not had to. Why fight when you can win bloodless victories by marriages? It is the same even among my own people. Marriages between the Dobunni who live near Ufton and the Atrebates are common. Ufton is directly on the Roman road to Corinium, Glevum, and Wales, and the Atrebates are Ceawlin’s devoted subjects.”

There was a heavy silence as the two Welsh chiefs looked at the Atrebates prince who was now the leader of a different tribe. Coinmail was nearing forty, yet there was no gray in the burnished auburn hair he still wore clipped short in Roman style. His chiseled features were as sternly beautiful as in his youth. He was, if anything, more imposing and impressive than ever and, in pursuit of his life’s mission, as inexorable as death.

“Perhaps you should communicate with your sister,” Condidan suggested at last. “Tell her of our concerns …”

Coinmail’s lips tightened. “My sister has become a Saxon.”

“She is still a Christian, surely?”

Coinmail shrugged. “What matter? She has borne Ceawlin six children. She has a stake in all these marriages as well. Niniane will do nothing for us, my lords. If we wish to stop Ceawlin, we must do it ourselves.”

Niniane and Auda sat together in the herb garden spinning wool. Fara, a small and agile three-year-old, chased a butterfly while Auda’s infant son slept peacefully in the basket at his mother’s feet.

“Ceawlin insists that the thanes from Wight must come to Winchester to swear allegiance to him and to Crida,” Niniane said with a sigh. “I must confess I tried to persuade him it would be easier for him to go to Wight, but he says no. I suppose he is right. He usually is.” Niniane gave her daughter-by-marriage a rueful look. “Of course, I am the one who has the housing and feeding of them.”

Auda was amused. “You will manage, Mother. Like the king, you usually do.”

A little silence fell as the women peacefully spun their wool. The baby smacked his lips in his sleep and Auda began to laugh. “He is so greedy. Even in his sleep he thinks only of food.”

“He is a fine, healthy boy,” said Niniane. “You and Crida have been blessed.”

“I know.” Auda’s voice was very soft. She turned to Niniane and smiled. “You have lived in Winchester for so long, Mother, that I don’t think you realize how unusual life is here. There are none of the petty jealousies, the intrigues, the spites, that pervaded my grandfather’s enclave in Wight. And I know from my sister Fritha, who is married into East Anglia, that it is the same there. But here … all is peace.”

Niniane’s skillful fingers continued to work even as her mind was busy elsewhere. East Anglia, she thought. No, from all reports they had received, things had been far from peaceful in East Anglia these last few years. With the death of Guthfrid’s brother and the accession of her brother’s son, Redwold, to the kingship, Guthfrid had been pushed from her previous position of influence. She and her son had found themselves an embarrassment to the new king, a galling reminder of East Anglia’s double defeats at the hands of Ceawlin of Wessex. But even in enforced retirement, Guthfrid had been a source of bitterness and discord at Sutton Hoo. She had, by all accounts, been a raving fury when Redwold had married his brother and not his cousin to Auda’s sister, Fritha of Wight.

Then word had come only last month that Guthfrid was dead. By poison, it was whispered; but then, poison was always whispered when royalty died of aught else besides battle wounds or childbirth.

Guthfrid, the implacable enemy of all that Niniane loved, dead at last. Niniane still felt a flash of wickedly un-Christian pleasure when she thought of Guthfrid, safe at last in the earth.

Guthfrid had sowed discord enough in Winchester in her time as well. But Niniane did not want to remind Auda of the intrigues that her own family had been so much a part of. Auda was extremely sensitive on that subject. So she turned now to her son’s wife and said with a small laugh, “You would not be lauding the peace of Winchester if you had heard the fight I had to mediate this morning between the baker and the cook.”

Auda’s face was grave. “I was not talking about the servants,” she said.

“I know.” Niniane rested her hands in her lap and watched Fara fall into a patch of thyme. The little girl got up, unhurt, and continued her pursuit of the elusive butterfly. “There will never be peace in a household where two women vie for power,” Niniane said at last, turning to Auda and raising her delicate brows a little. “Ceawlin grew up in the middle of the war that waged between his mother and Guthfrid. He learned his lesson well.” Her eyebrows returned to their normal position and once more she began to spin her wool.

“I see …” Auda’s voice was thoughtful.

Niniane shot her a sideways look. “See what?”

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.