Born of the Sun (61 page)

“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.”

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.”

Ceawlin was Saxon to his fingertips. He knew he was not invulnerable. Why, then, did he persist in living his life as if he were?

The door opened and she heard her husband come into the room. “Are you all right?” His voice was rough but she could hear the concern underneath.

“Yes. Just weary. It’s the weather, I suppose.”

He came to stand beside her and stare out at the day as well. She turned her head slightly so she could see him. There was rain on his hair and on his shoulders. His profile was as clear as the profiles on some of the old Roman coins she had seen; and as unreadable.

“Gereint has not come for the wedding,” she said.

“No.” His profile did not change. “After the marriage, we will go to Bryn Atha and speak with him.”

Niniane felt her heart jump. He was worried. Why had he not listened to her? “Ceawlin. It is not yet too late.” She laid her hand on his bare forearm. “They are not married yet.”

He turned his head and looked at her. “They will be tomorrow,” he answered, removed his arm from beneath her fingers, and left the room.

A young priest from Glastonbury married Alys and Cedric, and after a restrained banquet in Bertred’s hall, the new husband and wife were put to bed. Alys lost her virginity and it was done; Dynas’ next lord would be a Saxon. If he lived.

Ceawlin was well aware that he could not send Cedric to live at Dynas just yet. The newly wedded couple were to live at Romsey until matters were settled between Ceawlin and Coinmail. Bevan, the unhappy pawn in this power struggle, went miserably home by himself and rued the day he had ever promised his daughter to the son of a Saxon eorl and thus brought this catastrophe down upon his head.

A week after the marriage, Ceawlin, Niniane, and an escort of ten thanes paid a visit to Bryn Atha.

The sight of her old home lifted Niniane’s spirits, as it always did. But then the shadow of Coinmail seemed to descend. Things were not the same in the land of the Atrebates since the marriage of Alys and Cedric.

Gereint was blunt when he met with Ceawlin and Niniane in the sitting room at Bryn Atha. “You have made a mistake, Ceawlin. You have given Coinmail just the weapon he has always needed to rally the Britons against you. You have threatened the integrity of Dumnonia.”

Ceawlin ran his hand through his hair and stared at Gereint in exasperation. “I am not moving against Dumnonia, Gereint. This is a marriage, not a rape. The girl’s father sought out Bertred.”

Gereint’s thin dark face was somber. The older he got, Niniane found herself thinking, the more he looked like Naille. “Bertred should not have accepted the offer.”

Ceawlin was beginning to get angry. “Why not? If he were offered a good marriage into Sussex, he would have taken it. Why is Dumnonia so sacred?”

“You don’t understand, Ceawlin.” The two men and Niniane were sitting in the ancient wicker chairs that furnished the sitting room, and now Gereint bent forward and stared at the mosaic floor.

“No, I don’t.” Niniane saw that Ceawlin’s eyes were beginning to deepen in color. “Are you saying that if the King of Dumnonia offered to marry one of his sons to my daughter, I would have to refuse?”

“Cador would never make such an offer.” Gereint looked up at Niniane. “Don’t you understand, Niniane? Haven’t you told him how it is?”

“Niniane was against the marriage.” Ceawlin’s face was set hard.

“Then for God’s sake, why didn’t you listen to her?” Gereint’s voice was almost despairing. “You don’t understand what you have done, Ceawlin. You can’t. If you did understand, you would never have done it.”

Ceawlin let out his breath in a long, slow release. When he did that, it was always a sign that he was trying to keep his temper. He couldn’t lose his temper, Niniane thought suddenly. To lose his temper with Gereint would be the very worst thing he could do.

“You see, Gereint,” she put in smoothly before Ceawlin had a chance to speak, “when the marriage was first proposed, no one had any idea that there would be a confrontation. Cador made no protest. It was, as Ceawlin told you, Bevan’s idea. Then Coinmail got hold of the news. Coinmail has no authority in Dumnonia, but he bullied Bevan into withdrawing from the betrothal. This was after the betrothal vows had been sworn. Bertred, not unnaturally, was furious and came to Ceawlin to ask him to hold Bevan to the marriage.” She shrugged slim shoulders. “What was Ceawlin to do? If he refused to back Bertred, he would have lost the respect of all his Saxon eorls and thanes.”