The Dragon Prince (7 page)

She had learned to ride as a child,
practicing on a shaggy, dappled gray pony her father had procured
in a raid. Not many of her people were comfortable on horses, but
she had always found riding pleasurable. It had turned out to be a
useful skill as she traveled from fort to fort with Cerdic’s camp.
She did not have to endure the endless jostling in a cart at the
back of the army train like the other women did, but could ride
near the front. Cerdic was pleased with her skill because he said
it made her seem more royal, and because it kept her near him where
he could have her serve his thanes.

Now she would ride beside Rhun. She knew
many of Arthur’s warriors fought on horseback and that the Britons
were famed horsemen. The fact she could ride might make her seem
more like a woman of his own people.

She changed her embroidered linen shoes for
a pair of soft leather sandals, then smoothed her hair. Hurriedly
stuffing everything into her pack, she started back to where Rhun
waited. She didn’t want to delay him any longer than necessary.

It was every bit as bad as he had feared,
Rhun thought as he kept watch for Eastra. Her mere nearness was
enough to make him into a nervous, witless fool. At this moment,
when he should be thinking ahead to their journey and the possible
dangers awaiting them, he was imagining Eastra undressing a few
paces away. Visions of her naked body, her creamy, perfect skin and
the lushness of her womanly form flooded his brain.

He shook his head, trying to expel the
images from his thoughts. He was
not
what Bridei believed
him to be—a lust-maddened beast. What he felt for Eastra was a
sense of protectiveness, and his intentions toward her were noble
and Christian. He meant to keep her safe and make her ordeal as a
hostage as pleasant as possible. Although he might heartily wish
Arthur had not assigned him this task, now that it was done he must
do his duty to the best of his ability.

“I am ready.” Her soft voice interrupted his
thoughts. He turned and smiled at her. Nay, she did not need ornate
garments or gold adornment to make her look like a princess. Even
in plain garments she was stunning. Her unbound hair, braided at
the temples to keep it out of her face, flowed over her shoulders
like pale, shimmering silk. Her face was like a flower, delicate,
perfectly formed. He motioned with his head, wanting to take her
hand, but not daring to touch her. “Let us go back to the
others.”

Due to the lateness of the day, they did not
get far out of Saxon territory before Arthur called a halt. They
made camp on a rise of land—the better to defend themselves in case
the Saxons planned some treachery, as Cador put it—then sent a
party of men down into the vale below to fetch wood for the
cookfires and water. Rhun found Eastra a sheltered place near the
supply carts. He spread out the blanket from his pack, then bid her
sit down. “I will bring you food shortly,” he said, then left
her.

After sending his armor bearer, Arwistyl, to
obtain a portion of the stew and a loaf when it was ready, Rhun
made his way to the center of the camp where Arthur and his
officers, the Companions, were gathered. Bridei was squatting down
near Arthur and speaking quietly to the high king. Rhun joined
them.

“I would like to believe Cerdic is sincere
in his desire for peace, but based on past experience I cannot
depend on it.” Arthur spoke in a quiet, serious voice, and in the
firelight, his handsome, kingly face appeared tense. “I think it’s
wisest that we remain vigilant and ready for war. What concerns me
most is that the Saxons might use this summer of peace as an
opportunity to bring more warriors from their homeland across the
sea. We need to alert our spies in the east to watch the
coast.”

Cador nodded thoughtfully. “We should also
send an envoy to Londinium. With all the ships that sail in and out
of that place, they might hear something of what is happening
across the Eastern Sea.”

“An excellent idea,” Arthur said. “But who
do we send?”

“I could go,” Bridei offered. “I know
several merchants in Londinium.”

“But I need you to go with Rhun to Gwynedd,”
Arthur said. “The plan was for you to be part of the princess’s
escort.”

“She could come with us to Londinium first.
It’s only a day’s journey to the south.”

Rhun stared at his brother. What was Bridei
planning?

Arthur frowned. “It seems very odd to take a
hostage on such a mission.”

“Not so odd,” Bridei said. “Who knows?
Seeing her, knowing we have some hold over Cerdic, might sway some
of the traders into helping us.”

“But what if she intends to spy for Cerdic?”
Cei asked in concern. “Then she would know our plans.”

“I would not involve her directly when I met
with the merchants.” Bridei favored Cei with a withering look. Cei
was a solid, loyal officer, but not the cleverest of men. “Rhun
would guard her while I went about my business.” He looked around
the gathering. “Many of these merchants are wary of soldiers and
all things having to do with war. I am the man who can convince
them this is not merely Arthur’s battle, but something every man in
Britain who values the freedom should be concerned about.”

Arthur looked to Cador. Despite Cador’s
excesses in past campaigns, all the Companions knew the high king
depended heavily on his judgment.

Cador shrugged. “I can’t see any harm in the
plan. Cerdic will certainly never expect us to take his niece into
the south. By the time he learns she’s there, the business will be
finished and they will be on their way to Gwynedd.” He turned to
Bridei. “And I agree that our silver-tongued bard is the man for
this task. If anyone can convince the greedy merchants of Londinium
there is some reason for them to support our cause, it’s him.”

Arthur nodded. Then, as an afterthought, he
turned to Rhun. “Have you any objection?”

What could he say? He could not guess his
brother’s scheme. “I have no objection,” he answered.

Eastra sat in the back of the supply cart,
dangling her legs as she watched the night sky turn from purple to
blue-black. Around her, spread out over the hillside, campfires
gleamed into light, like stars reflecting those above in the
heavens. She tried to eat the stew that the young soldier had
brought her—Arwistyl, he said his name was. Although the pottage
was savory and well-seasoned, she had to force each bite down. She
could not help thinking about the fact she was surrounded by her
enemies.

After every mouthful, she paused as the
lilting cadence of the British tongue came to her ears from every
quarter of the camp. Although she could understand most of what
they said, the unfamiliar rhythms of their language seemed foreign
and somehow threatening. All her life she had heard tales of the
treachery and cruelty of the Britons, and during her childhood
she’d experienced their brutality firsthand. She had lost her
mother and her brother in one of their raids. Although she had not
seen them die, she could not help imagining her loved ones lying in
the dust with the reeking smoke around them, their blue eyes
staring sightless and bright red blood oozing from their
wounds.

But during that same raid, Rhun had rescued
her, carrying her out of the longhouse to the freedom of the
forest. He had hidden her from his fellow warriors, clearly
disobeying orders to save her. Having done that so many years ago
when he was but a fledgling warrior and she only a child, surely he
could be trusted with her life even more now. He was obviously a
powerful, important man among his people. He sat at Arthur’s side
and shared in his council meetings. And she was a woman, not a
scrawny child. She could make him desire her, make him look at her
with longing as other men did.

She sighed and dipped a piece of the bread
into the stew. Bannock, they called it, a flat unleavened mealcake
cooked over a campfire. Filling, substantial food, although plainer
and coarser than what she was used to in Cerdic’s household. But
she had never traveled with her uncle when he went to war, and this
was the food of an army on the march.

Again, her stomach twisted. She had risked
everything to be with Rhun. What if she had made a mistake?

* * *

“Why did you do that?” Rhun asked his
brother as they walked away from the gathering of Arthur’s
Companions. “Now we are bound to go to Londinium, prolonging our
journey all the more.” He turned and grabbed Bridei’s tunic. “Are
you plotting some mischief? Because if you are—”

“Peace, brother.” Bridei soothed. “I have no
devious intent. Arthur needs a man to go to Londinium, and I’m the
obvious one. As for taking the woman—” He shrugged. “Why should she
not see a bit of the country before she is shut up in our father’s
fortress?”

“She’s a hostage, Bridei! Not some sort
of... of... of guest we are showing off the choice parts of Britain
to!”

“Do you want her to be miserable? To feel
like a prisoner, a kind of game piece in this contest between
Cerdic and Arthur? I thought you cared about her.”

“I don’t care about her! That is, I do, but
I can’t act on those feelings. I have to deal with her as I would
any other hostage.”

“Oh, so that is why you argued with Bedwyr
about what horse she would ride, making sure she had as fine a
mount as any of Arthur’s Companions?”

“That was simply a practical consideration.
She must have a decent horse if she is to keep up with us. Besides,
she is a woman and royalty. I can’t treat her as I would a rough
fighting man.”

“My point exactly. She’s a woman and has
lived a pampered life. At least since Cerdic rescued her and made
her part of his household. What does it hurt to take her to
Londinium with us and enjoy ourselves for a time?”

“Enjoy ourselves?” Rhun gave his brother an
aghast look. “What are you talking about? You’re going to Londinium
on a sensitive diplomatic mission. This is not a matter in which we
should find pleasure!”

“And why not?” Bridei asked. “Why should we
be wretched and gloomy every moment? This battle between Saxon and
Briton has been going on since before I was born—before you were
born, in fact. Why must our lives be grim and cheerless because
Arthur ap Uther and Cerdic Hengistson both seek to rule Britain?
They are like two hounds fighting over a bone. Neither will give in
until they are dead—or until this whole island is ravaged and
ruined.”

“The cause we fight for means that little to
you?” Rhun asked bitterly. “Do you really want to end up a Saxon
slave, to see our people wiped out?”

“They can’t enslave every man in Britain.
Nor are they likely to kill us all, either. I don’t see why we
can’t live side by side, as the Romans and our people once did. The
Saxons are farmers. They care nothing for the highlands where our
people live.” Bridei grimaced. “Although I despise having to admit
it, I fear for once our father is right. This war is a futile waste
of effort and lives.”

“But the Saxons are barbarians! Heathen
devils who worship loathsome gods. We must fight for the Christian
cause, for light and truth in this time of darkness!”

“So you believe,” Bridei said. “But I do
not. I hardly think the Christians possess any sort of special
claim on all the light and truth in the world. Many of them have
done terrible things, things I doubt the Christos would have
condoned, at least from what I know of His teachings.”

Rhun took a deep breath and fought for
composure. He should know better than to argue with his brother.
Bridei was always able to twist things, to prick at his doubts and
make him uneasy and unsettled with the beliefs he had honored all
his life. “Perhaps I should tell Arthur how you truly feel about
things,” he said coldly. “Perhaps then he would be less eager to
send you to argue his cause among the merchants of Londinium.”

“Oh, I will be persuasive enough with them,
do not doubt it.” Bridei raised a dark brow and his eyes grew
ironic and amused. “The thing is, I don’t have to believe what I
say in order to be convincing. Even now, can you be certain what
I’ve just said is really what’s in my heart? Perhaps I was just
playing with you, trying to see if I could make you angry.” He
burst out with a brilliant smile. “And, as always, I have
succeeded. Your passion and sincerity are going to be your undoing,
big brother.”

“I would rather be a fool who wears his
convictions on his sleeve than a heartless wretch like you!”

“Heartless? How am I heartless? Who have I
hurt?” Bridei shrugged. “I don’t wield a sword. I don’t kill and
maim. I would say I’m actually more kindhearted than you are.”

Rhun shook his head. It was hopeless. Bridei
was like a slippery eel, too elusive and cunning to ever be
trapped. “I suppose if we’re going to Londinium, we must make
plans,” he said, changing the subject. “We should consider what
supplies to take and what sort of escort we will need.”

Bridei nodded. “The smaller the escort, the
better. We don’t want to appear on the streets of Londinium with a
band of spear-toting warriors. We’ll need only few men. They can
act as our servants while we play the role of fun-loving noblemen
out to explore the city.”

“And what of Eastra? How will we explain her
being with us?”

“Anyone can tell by looking at her she is
Saxon. Except for the merchants—to whom we might possibly reveal
her true circumstances if it appears to aid our cause—we will tell
everyone else she is your leman.”

“My leman? That’s appalling! An insult to my
honor and hers!”

“Perhaps, but can you think a better
explanation for her being with us? One that won’t alert the Saxons
in Londinium that we are holding one of their women as a
hostage?”

Rhun clenched his jaw tight. He hated how
Bridei was always able to make what he dreaded most seem like the
best possible course of action.