The Dragon Prince (45 page)

“I don’t think Cerdic is concerned about
that. If anything, he needs to find a way to restore relations with
my people. Although they would not fight him in pitched battle,
there are still any number of British chieftains who consider
Cerdic their enemy. If he truly wants his people to enjoy some
years of peace, he must deal with those men and come to some
agreement with them. I mean to offer to aid him in setting up
treaties and restoring trade relationships with those chieftains.
They know me, both as Maelgwn’s son and as one of Arthur’s
Companions, and I imagine they would rather bargain with one of
their own than with Cerdic.”

Eastra gazed at him in surprise. “You would
do that—offer to smooth the way for Cerdic so he can gain even more
power?”

“Why not? He’s shown himself to be a
gracious victor. He didn’t pursue the fleeing Britons and slaughter
them. Nor has he immediately marched into British territory and
begun confiscating land and property. For all that the treaty
between Arthur and Cerdic failed
.
I think the intent of it
is still attainable. There must be some way for us to divide up
this isle so that there can be peace.”

“But what about...” Eastra touched her
stomach. It seemed to swell larger day by day.

“That you carry my babe gives me more
leverage in dealing with your uncle, not less. I can argue I am
capable of being impartial in my negotiations because I will soon
have a child who carries Saxon blood as well as British. My bond
with you is further proof that I am the ideal man to mend the rift
between our peoples.”

“If only Cerdic will see it that way,”
Eastra said.

Rhun hugged her. “We will make him see it,
you and I. Together we represent the future, as Arthur was the
past.”

She pulled him down to kiss her one last
time before they walked back to the priory.

Londinium, A.D. 542

“They’re coming, they’re coming!” The
excited serving woman rushed down the peristyle and into the
garden. “Lord Rhun and the Saxon king.”

Petra, who worked for wages rather than
being a slave—as did everyone employed in Eastra’s household—came
to stand beside Eastra. Eastra didn’t move from her seat beside the
beds of dog roses and lilies that filled the courtyard with their
fragrance, but waited for the fair-haired babe at her breast to
finish suckling. Then she sat him up on her lap to burp and said,
“Your papa has come, little Ceawlin. Won’t he be surprised at how
big you’ve gotten?”

Ceawlin stared at her with solemn blue eyes,
then screwed up his face and turned bright red as he filled his
diaper.

“Oh, dear,” Eastra said, laughing. “Now I
will have to change your swaddling before your father arrives.
Although it would serve him right if I left the mess for him. He
needs to learn there is more to being a father than one night of
pleasure. Doesn’t he, my sweet, my darling little one?” She leaned
back to look at her precious babe, then kissed him on his perfect
tiny nose.

“I think you will have to change as well,”
Petra said. She pointed to the bright yellow streak on the skirt of
Eastra’s gunna.

“Oh, my!” Eastra laughed again. “I will be
glad when he is old enough to eat solid food.”

“Don’t wish him to grow up too quickly.”
Petra took the baby and wrapping him carefully in a blanket to
protect her own clothing, put him over her shoulder. “For now you
can keep him safe from danger, spoil him and pet him as you wish.
But all too soon he will be wanting to go off with his father and
be a warrior.”

“Perhaps this peace will hold and he need
never carry a sword,” Eastra said wistfully.

Petra shook her head. “You can dream, my
lady. But you know in your heart that men being the way they are,
war is inevitable.”

Petra whisked the babe away to change him,
and Eastra hurried to her own room to exchange her soiled gunna for
a clean one.

By the time she was presentable, Rhun and
her uncle had arrived. Hearing their heavy footsteps and deep
voices in the entryway, she went to greet them. She bowed to her
uncle, then embraced Rhun.

Eastra led them into the atrium, which she’d
refurbished with more substantial and comfortable native-made
furniture. Cerdic immediately sank into one of the big wooden
chairs by the brazier. This one had wolfsheads carved into the
armrests. Rhun took a seat in a chair with a dragon motif. She
chose a cushioned stool for herself and pushed it close to where
Rhun was sitting. A servant brought ale and the two men drank for
awhile, not speaking, but seemingly content to simply rest and
quench their thirst.

Eastra studied the tapestry on the wall, a
present from Rhiannon and featuring a crimson dragon and a golden
stallion—the symbol of her Saxon heritage—on a background of purple
and white flowers. How strange it was, she thought. Who would have
imagined a year ago that she would be living in a Roman-style house
and her uncle and Rhun would be relaxing together like a pair of
hunting dogs come in from the chase? It still amazed her that
Cerdic had accepted Rhun so readily. Perhaps it was his coloring
and build, which were so much like a Saxon’s. Or perhaps it was
that over the years, Cerdic, like she, had grown comfortable with
British ways and customs and could now see the similarities between
the two peoples more than the differences. Cerdic and Rhun had been
together almost constantly this past year, trying to forge a treaty
between the British chieftains and the Saxons. Eastra had taught
Rhun her language, and that had further aided the negotiations.

“So,” she began when her curiosity got the
better of her attempt to appear as a dutiful hostess, “How did you
fare in your meeting with Cynglass and Urien?”

“Well enough.” Cerdic nodded in
satisfaction. “We’ve set up the boundary line along the old Roman
road that leads from Isca Dumonia all the way to Lindum. It cuts
the south of the island nearly in half, expanding Saxon lands
substantially.”

“But it leaves most of the forested wild
places to the British,” Rhun added. “Which is as it should be.”

“Do you think the peace will hold?”

Cerdic shrugged. “At least during my
lifetime. Oh, the British chieftains will still raid and fight
among themselves, but that’s not my concern.”

Eastra looked to Rhun. He shrugged. “Aye,
Cerdic is right. My people will fight each other and the Irish will
raid and life will go on as it always has.”

Their words didn’t really satisfy Eastra,
but she didn’t comment. Although she doubted she would ever become
as complacent and accepting as Rhiannon, she was trying to learn to
deal with the fact that men simply saw the world differently than
women.

Cerdic sat back in his chair and sighed.
“You’ve done well for yourself, niece. This is as fine a dwelling
as I’ve ever been in.”

Although startled by the compliment, Eastra
managed to say, “I’m pleased you like it. When Aurelius and his
family sailed for Less Britain, I knew it would fall into ruin
unless someone lived here and kept it up. The stone walls can be
cold and damp in the winter, but the garden is so lovely it more
than makes up for the other less comfortable aspects of Roman
living.”

“Ah, Aurelius,” Cerdic smiled wolfishly. “A
pity he had to leave so abruptly and abandon so much of his
wealth.”

Eastra considered Aurelius’s fate. Who would
have guessed he was the one who had arranged for her and Rhun to be
attacked on that Londinium street over a year ago? But that was no
odder than the fact that it had been Cador—one of Arthur’s most
trusted captains— who Aurelius had conspired with. Cador despised
the Saxons and wanted no part of a truce with them. He’d done all
he could to bring about the battle that had ended up costing him
his life, including sending the false message that Mordred was
dead.

Crafty Aurelius had sensed that Arthur’s
fall was coming, but he made the mistake of throwing in his lot
with the scheming Cador rather than the Saxons. When Cerdic reached
Londinium last autumn and heard Aurelius bragging about his part in
Arthur’s downfall, he’d made some inquiries and discovered the
whole murderous plot. He wasn’t pleased and offered Aurelius the
choice of leaving Britain or losing his life.

“I wonder what happened to Aurelius’s
daughter,” Rhun mused. He looked at Eastra. “You remember her,
don’t you? The one who kept throwing herself at Bridei?”

“I remember her,” Eastra answered.
“According to the servants here, Aurelius ended up wedding her off
to some Saxon armorer who has his shop not far from here. The story
is that by the time her father found out she was with child, she
was too far gone to attract a better match.”

Cerdic looked at Rhun. “Your brother’s
get?”

“I don’t think so. He swore he did no more
than flirt with her.”

Eastra shook her head. “I think she was
already pregnant when we stayed here. That’s likely why she was so
desperate to seduce Bridei. It was her last chance at a royal
husband.” She felt a twinge of gratification to think that the
haughty Roman British Calida had ended up married to one of the
people she despised and a lowly armorer at that.

Petra came in carrying Ceawlin, and Rhun
took his son in his arms. At first, Cerdic tried to feign
disinterest in his grandnephew, but there was no mistaking the
pride in his voice as he said, “A fine, brawny suckling. He will
make a formidable warrior someday.”

“Not if I can help it,” Eastra answered.

“Oh, he’ll be a warrior,” Cerdic said. “He’s
got the blood for it from both sides. A warrior and a king—high
king of the Britons.”

Eastra could only shake her head and laugh.
Over the babe’s downy, golden head, she met Rhun’s gaze. The look
of tender love on his face made her breath catch. How she adored
him, her glorious dragon prince.

Cerdic leaned over and offered a rough,
scarred finger for Ceawlin to grab. Behind him, Rhun mouthed the
words, “I love you.”

Eastra mouthed the words back. And little
Ceawlin gave a hiccupping giggle of delight.

The End

The
Dragon Prince
is made up of about equal parts history, legend,
and imagination. First the history: There really was a king named
Maelgwn the Great. He had a long reign over the kingdom of Gwynedd
(northwest Wales) and sired several sons, including Rhun, who was
said to have filled the power void left when King Arthur died, and
Bridei, who is associated with the northern part of Britain.

There is much less documentation for Arthur,
although Nennius, writing in the 1100’s (nearly 600 years after
Arthur’s time) lists several important battles, including “the
fight at Camlann in which Arthur and Medraut were killed.” Camlann
is thought to be a later form of Camboglanna, and Mordred is a
variation of Medraut.

As for the legend, I’ve always thought it
ironic that the tale of King Arthur has been preserved and
embellished primarily by the very people who historically were his
enemies. The Saxons eventually conquered and populated most of
Britain, and through a quirk of language became the English (from
the name of their fellow Germanic tribesmen, the Angles). They took
King Arthur as their own and raised him to the level of a mythical
folk-hero, a symbol for the most idealized concept of kingship and
heroic nobility. He is certainly a larger than life character, and
I found the fantasy of a “forever king” so compelling that I
decided to add my own twist to the story and not kill off Arthur
but instead provide a semi-magical explanation for his
disappearance.

The rest of this story sprang solely from my
imagination, incorporating a belief in the spiritual energy of the
earth, the eternal cycle of rebirth and renewal, and the powerful
magic of love.

Happy reading!