The Beast of Caer Baddan

Glossary of Main Characters

Owain (Euginius): Prince of Glouia and head of the Army of Albion

Britu: Prince of
Atrebat, and Owain’s cousin

Swale: Prince of Ewyas and also a relative of Owain

Annon: Prince of Pengwern, and a student of Owain

Leola: an orphaned commoner, who works in Sigbert Earlmann’s house

The Britannae (Britisc)

The dominant people living in Albion

Owain’s family

Irael (Aurelius) King of Glouia: Owain’s widowed father

Lady Gratianna Owain's illegitimate daughter whom he name after his aunt

Britu’s family

Gourthigern King of Powys and Atrebat: Britu’s father, who brought the Saxons to the island

Severa Queen of Atrebat: Britu’s mother and King Irael’s sister

Lady Scothnoe: Lady of Atrebat and Britu’s younger sister

Prince Edernus: Britu’s younger brother and a student of Father Vitalius

Annon’s family

Emrys King of Pengwern: Annon’s father

Madge Queen of Pengwern: Annon’s mother

The Dumnonni people

Tudwal King of the Dumnonni

Gadeon Prince of the Dumnonni: King Tudwal’s son by Owain's aunt Gratianna

Prince Cadfan: King Tudwal’s nephew

The Dobunni people

Eisu Lord of the Dobunni: in opposition to King Irael

Queen Deire: Lord Eisu’s wife

Prince Inam: Lord Eisu’s brother, who visits King Irael

Prince Bodvoc: Lord Eisu’s youngest brother, becomes Lord of the Dobunni

The Parisi people

Vindi King of Ebrauc

Lady Rhian Warrioress of Ebrauc

The Silurae people

Erb King of Gwent

Sir Vesanus: a knight under Swale

(Owain's mother
, Queen Elen, was also Silurae)

Other people

Tuathal: King Irael’s steward

Leir: Owain's servant

Gytha: Queen Severa’s servant whom she sends with Leola to translate for her

The Gewissae

A predominately Saxon people living in Albion

The Gewissae of Holton

Sigbert Earlmann: the prince of Holton

Ardith Sigbert-dotter: the earlmann’s only child, and Leola’s friend

Raynar: a suitor of Ardith’s

The Gewissae of Tiwton

Giwis Cyning of Tiwton: prince of Tiwton and leader of the Gewissae

Aluca Giwis-son: the Aetheling of Tiwton, in love with Ardith

The Gewissae of Anlofton

Wigmund Earlmann of Anlofton

Fridiswid the Dryhtcwen: widow of Wigmund Earlmann of Anlofton

Redburga: Leola’s aunt

Fensalir: Redburga’s husband

Garrick Fensalir-son: their youngest son

Erna and Ead: their twin daughters

Drudi: a girl a little younger then Leola’s

Prologue

Three things are feared:

The wrath of the Rowan,

The perseverance of the Oak,

The strength of the Alder:

These three are one.

Three things are honored:

The serenity of the Hazel,

The passion of the Willow,

The unity of the Ash:

These three are one.

Chapter One: A Champion

Owain stood motionless and dazed, not understanding what played out before his eyes. His rough fingers gripped around the leather-wrapped handle of a broadsword, but he could not think to defend himself. His jaw trembled in fear, and his eyes fixed on the body of his teacher, who lay as a heap of butchered man in the grass. 

He heard his mother’s frantic voice cry out his name.

“Owain!”

His gaze lifted from his teacher to the strange man who towered above him like a fabled giant from the ancient legends.

“Owain!” his mother cried. “Go!”

Yet he could not move his feet or even cry out.

The strange man was wounded, bleeding from his chest and cheek, but the boy hardly noticed these things. He stared up into the man’s haunting eyes, which burned a hole into his young courage.

Owain saw his mother as she stepped between them, her white dress fluttering in the breeze, and a long slender knife in her grasp.

“Run!” she cried.

Her knife plunged deep into the man’s exposed arm, but a careless swing from his sword brought her down.

At once, the boy’s tongue was loose.

“Mam!” he cried.
“Mam! No!”

His voice echoed in his head, as if another being was screaming out, and his mind could not control it.

His mother lay still, with her large brown eyes staring up at the heavens. Blood gushed out of her stomach, and even the organs that should never see daylight were exposed for all to view.

The slender hand of another woman took the boy by the arm.

“Come, Prince! Come!”

The words resonated in his heart, not as a call to flee, but to fight. Something deep within him swelled to the surface of his being, like a foaming liquid, heating to a boil in response. His eyes flashed in unhindered rage.

“Ugh!” Owain cried.

He pulled himself away from the other woman and flew at the strange man before him. He batted the man’s sword away with the heavy bronze boss in the center of his shield. His wide blade found its final mark across the man’s pale face.

“Ugh!” Owain cried. “Die! Die! Die!”

“Owain!”

Owain glanced over to see his friends standing in the center of the room, the crowds of dinner guests surrounding them. He wondered how he had heard them call his name above the rapid beating of the drums and chatter in the hall.

They were dressed as befitted their princely status, with large wool brats of six interwoven colors secured around their waists by leather belts and up at their right shoulders with gold broaches. Their breastplates were made of small metal scales sewn together to form thick yet flexible overvests. Their arms were covered by leather sleeves and large metal armplates. White linen leggings and Roman styled laced-up boots completed their attire. 

Yet what distinguished them from the other
men who filled the great hall, was the shine of their newly polished armor that glittering with inlaid gold. Gold chains hung around their necks, and rings graced their fingers.

They were the sons of some of the most powerful kings on the island and stood as Owain’s only equals in the vast sea of mighty warriors.

Owain rose from his solitary bench, and the grim memories dropped from him as if they had fallen to the painted stone floor. His face was firm, and his manner emitted the confidence of one who had everything. He would not allow himself to dwell too long on the festivities but perhaps he had earned a little lightheartedness.

“Owain!” one of the princes called.

Owain came to the center of the hall, where his friends were gathered.

“I'm here, Britu,” he replied.

Britu was just two and twenty, with thick curly brown hair and freckles dotted across his smooth shaved face. He had a light in his eye and a pleasant smile, both of which Owain knew could disappear in a furious instant.

“You are the champion once more,” Britu said, the Latin words dripping easily from his schooled tongue. “Do not believe that disappearing shall go unnoticed.”

“Join us, Prince Owain,” another said. “We shall perform the sword dance.”

Owain had thought he wanted to join them, yet now that he was once more in the center of the festivities, his anguishing heart longed for silence.

“Well and good,” Owain replied.

He glanced down at the most junior member of their party. At fifteen, Annon was small, slender, and seemed to be lost in the heavy armor. His usually pale face was now flushed with excitement.

“But the hour is late,” Owain replied. “I bid you all a good evening.”

“No, Prince,” Annon pleaded. “You have had a great victory. This is a celebration. You must dance.”

“I must go to bed,” Owain replied, with a laugh. “And do not think that this morning's conquest shall make me lenient on you tomorrow. You are learning a new counterattack at sunrise.”

As he teased Annon, his broad hand messed up the boy's long black curls.

“Let me stay up a bit longer, Prince,” the boy whined.

“I shall see Annon to bed, Owain,” another said.

Owain glanced at Swale, who had been the first of them to form what was now their little group of friends. Swale was older than Britu by ten years, and his calm appearance marked a distinction between them. Where Britu quickly became agitated and aggressive, Owain knew that Swale kept his self-control.

“Very well, Swale,” Owain replied. “I go then. God keep you, Gentlemen. Bid a good night to King Coel.”

The music changed from triumphant to a wild frenzy, as the monotonous drumming was joined by flutes and harps, each one with its own melody. The sound interlocked like a large complicated puzzle. Two swords were placed on the floor, and the gathering chanted for the greatest dancer present to grace them with his performance.

“Swale!
Swale! Swale!”

The prince gave them a grand bow and then began to jump around the sharp weapons, staying clear of the blades with quick nimble feet.

Owain strode out of the great hall and along the wide passageway toward the stairs.

The castle around him was not as grand as his home, far to the south in Baddan, for it had been originally built by the Romans as one of the fortresses to defend the North Country against the Caledoni Pictii. But Owain was glad for the firm structure that had given them security over a long winter in the bitter northern cold.

In over nine years of war, Owain had never respected an enemy as he did the Pictii. They were a valiant people, and he knew that was a rare honor to have defeated them so quickly or even at all. His mother could be pleased with his achievements.