The Dragon Prince (9 page)

“Not a true one,” Bridei answered. “I was
never willing to undergo the rigorous training to learn all the
sagas and heroic tales an official bard must know. It takes near a
score of years for that.” He smiled. “But Arthur sees fit to keep
me around anyway. He knows I have the means to gladden his men’s
hearts when they are heavy or to compose a satisfying tribute when
one of their own is lost. I believe he counts me as useful, in my
way, as any of his Companions.”

Eastra glanced at Rhun. He nodded. “My
brother has a way with words. Although I think if Arthur had any
idea what mischief he sometimes causes, he might not be so pleased
to have Bridei in his army train.”

“What mischief?” Bridei asked, his face a
mask of innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Rhun rolled his eyes, and Eastra looked from
one man to the other. How different these two brothers were, not
merely in looks, but in the way they saw things. She could not help
being drawn to Bridei’s lighthearted nature. After the harshness of
her life, his playful outlook was as appealing as a burst of
sunshine among the clouds. But she admired Rhun as well, for his
thoughtfulness and kindness.

But there was certainly more than admiration
in her feelings for him. Being near him aroused a deep yearning.
His tall, well-muscled physique and gold-streaked hair reminded her
of her countrymen, and yet he was different, his eyes a deeper,
grayer blue, his features finer, his hair darker and slightly wavy.
The subtle strangeness of his appearance aroused and attracted her.
Never before had she met a man she desired to lie with, to have him
touch her and put his mouth on hers. But she felt that way with
Rhun. And the longer she was near him, the more intense those
feelings became.

Caught up as she was in her thoughts, she
didn’t notice the change in the landscape. Then all at once, she
saw they had left the rolling hills and moved down into small
valley. The grass and vegetation here grew lush and deep, a more
brilliant green than she’d ever seen before, and there were strange
shaped mounds scattered here and there. A sense of desolation
hovered in the air, and when she saw a blackened, half-burned tree
with blackbirds on the barren branches, she experienced a strange,
uneasy feeling, a vague sense of recognition. Then she caught a
glimpse of the waving heads of the grainfield and knew. Her body
went rigid and her throat seemed to close up. It was as if a cloud
had passed over the sun, and the world was suddenly cold and
bleak.

“Jesu.” She heard Rhun swear, and knew he
had also guessed what they had come upon. “Eastra,” he said. “I’m
sorry. I didn’t know this was here. I was merely taking the most
direct route.”

Eastra shook her head, unable to respond.
Every patch of green made the gorge rise in her throat. Was there a
body hidden in the tall vegetation? The crumbling skeleton of one
of her people? A child or a woman left to lie where they were
butchered?

She glanced around, blinking away tears. Not
all of the longhouse had burned, and she could still see its faint
rectangular shape in the tall grass. And the furrows of the
grainfields, abandoned for a season or more, were still
discernible.

“It looks like there was a village here,”
Bridei said. “I wonder what happened?” His voice came to Eastra’s
ears as if from far way.

“They were burned out, probably by a British
patrol,” Rhun answered.

“Saxons?” Bridei asked.

“Aye. You see where the longhouse was? And
the way they plowed their fields in straight, even lines?
Unmistakably Saxon.”

“What happened to the people?” Bridei
asked.

“Eastra,” Rhun said. “Do you want to
stop?”

She shook her head violently, the tears
blinding her.

“I’m sorry,” Rhun said again. “I wish you
didn’t have to see this. If it helps any, know that these days
Arthur forbids his patrols to kill women and children. The tribe
that once lived here probably moved north, or nearer to the
coast.”

“Do you truly believe that?” she asked in a
shaking voice.

Rhun sighed. “I want to, but I cannot
promise it’s true.”

At last they reached the edge of the ruined
settlement. Eastra took a deep breath, torn between conflicting
emotions. Seeing the cruel handiwork of the Britons made her feel
like a traitor to her people. Why had she have willingly offered
herself as a hostage? How could she have deliberately chosen the
company of her enemies?

She glanced at Rhun. His face looked
grieved, his jaw set with grim resignation. It had disturbed him to
see the lingering aftereffects of bloodshed and war. Did it remind
him of when he rescued her? That day he had not been part of the
senseless slaughter, but instead had hid her from his fellow
soldiers and carried her to safety. Her anger faded. He had saved
her life. He was not like his countrymen. She could not believe he
was.

They rode on. Although some of the luster
had gone from the day, Eastra felt her turmoil easing. She was here
because she wanted to be here. With Rhun. He was like no man she
had ever known. She could not let him vanish from her life once
again. She urged her mount closer to his. “How long will we stay in
Londinium?” she asked.

“A few days. It depends on how long it takes
to purchase supplies.”

“What sort of things will you buy?”

Rhun didn’t immediately respond to her
question. He gave Bridei a look, and Bridei answered. “We will
purchase wine, of course. And perhaps Samian ware, leather goods,
and fabric. We can get those things from the merchant ships that
sometimes come to Deganwy, of course. But the quality and selection
will be better in Londinium.”

“But if we buy wine and pottery, we’ll have
to have a cart to transport it in,” Rhun said, frowning. “I don’t
want to be slowed down with a baggage vehicle. I say we buy nothing
too heavy or cumbersome, nothing that can’t be carried on a
packhorse.”

“Whatever you wish,” Bridei said. “How we
travel to Gwynedd is up to you.”

Eastra saw Rhun’s jaw tighten. She wondered
what had angered him. Was it simply that his brother rubbed him the
wrong way? The two of them always seemed to be disagreeing.

After a time, Rhun pulled his mount to a
halt and pointed to a tall stone marker in the distance. “There’s a
mile marker for the old Roman road. We can follow it all the way to
Londinium.”

They rode to where he pointed. There,
glinting white as bleached bone, was a broad, level stone trackway.
“The going will be easier now,” Rhun said. “The Romans built their
roads well. See, the pavement has hardly crumbled even in the
hundred years since the legions left.”

“It must have taken many, many slaves to
build this,” Eastra said as they set off down the road, the horses’
hooves echoing loudly on the stones.

“It wasn’t built by slaves, but by the
troops themselves,” Rhun answered. “The Romans were disciplined
men. Their footsoldiers knew how to dig and build as well as fight.
It was part of what made them so successful. They would conquer a
territory, then immediately build up forts and settlements to
secure it before moving on. Once all these things were in place, it
was almost impossible for the native people to defeat them. Then
the Roman soldiers intermarried with the local women, and before
you knew it, the conquered tribes had become like the conquerors,
seduced to the pleasures of Roman living.”

“Is that what happened to the Britons?”
Eastra asked.

“For the most part,” Rhun answered. “My
people, living up in the wild highlands, never really adopted Roman
ways. And there were other tribes, scattered here and there, who
retained the speech and livelihood and ways of their ancestors.
When the legions left and the first wave of barbarians washed over
Britain, many of those who called themselves citizens of Rome were
killed or driven from the country. That left us, the original
tribes of Britain, to defend it.”

“The barbarians? Is that how you speak of my
people?” Eastra asked.

“Those first invaders
were
barbarians. They didn’t come to settle the land, but to rape and
pillage and slaughter. They didn’t bring their womenfolk or their
families. They came and took what they could carry in their boats
and destroyed the rest, and then they left.” Rhun gave her a look
of helplessness. “It was over a hundred years ago, long before our
time, or even that of our grandsires. The Saxons and Jutes and all
those seafaring warriors from the lands across the eastern sea,
they especially liked to attack the priories and holy places, and
that set the Christians against them. They have always denounced
the invaders as savage men who worship foul, bestial gods.”

“Do you think I’m a barbarian?” Eastra
asked.

“Of course not! Nor do I think that of your
uncle, Cerdic. I have seen how your people live, the exquisite
jewelry, the woven goods and furniture your artisans craft, the
order of your households, the efficiency of your farming
techniques. In many ways I admire your people, and think there is
much we Britons can learn from them.”

“But you believe we worship foul, bestial
gods,” she pointed out sourly.

Rhun shrugged “Many of my people worship
gods and goddesses other than the Christos. At one time, that
bothered me a great deal. But I have gradually come to terms with
it. I no longer think it matters so much what god a man or woman
calls holy, but what is in their heart, what sort of person they
are. I have known Christians who have done vile things, things at
least as bad as any barbarian. And then there is my stepmother, a
devotee of the Great Goddess, and one of the kindest and wisest
people I’ve ever known.”

“Besides.” Bridei joined the conversation.
“If he thought you were a bestial barbarian, he would never have
rescued you all those years ago.” He lifted his dark brows
knowingly.

Eastra looked at Rhun. She was surprised
he’d told his brother about that incident, especially given the
tensions between them. In a way, it troubled her, as if he had
shared a secret that was supposed to be between the two of
them.

“I had to tell him,” Rhun said, as if
guessing her thoughts. “Otherwise he would have pestered me
relentlessly, or started asking questions of the other men.” He
shot Bridei a hostile look.

“What have I done now?” Bridei demanded.
“Here I am, trying to help you win over this woman, to convince her
you are not like most Britons. I’m certain she has heard many awful
tales about
our
race—that we are monsters who eat Saxon
children for breakfast.” He looked at Eastra expectantly.

She nodded. “The most horrifying tale I was
told is that the Christians have a ritual where you drink blood and
eat human flesh.”

Rhun gave her a shocked look. “That’s not
true! Only wine and bread are consumed during the Sacrament. The
blood and flesh are merely
symbolic
of our Lord’s
sacrifice.”

“Still, you must admit, it sounds gruesome,”
Bridei said. “Savage enough to frighten the barbarians
themselves.”

“I know now that it’s not true,” Eastra
said. “But when I was a child—well, you can imagine how much we
feared and hated the British.”

“And yet, when I rescued you that day, you
came to me willingly,” Rhun said softly. “Why did you have dare to
trust me with your life? How did you know I wasn’t going to ‘eat
you for breakfast,’ as Bridei put it?”

“I saw something in your eyes. I knew you
wouldn’t hurt me.”

They stared at each other. Eastra could feel
the emotion welling up inside her. She had trusted this man with
her life all those years ago. And in this moment, she gave him the
rest of her heart.

Although it was difficult, Rhun forced
himself to tear his glance away. When Eastra looked at him like
that, he felt all his will, all his reason, slipping away. It was
as if Bridei and the other men didn’t even exist, as if it were
only the two of them in the world, their souls touching.

It was sort of an enchantment, he thought
uneasily as they rode on down the Roman road. A dangerous
enchantment. He had to remember his duty, his purpose in being with
this woman. She was a hostage, Cerdic’s kinswoman. Although every
fiber of his being told him he could trust her with his life, he
dared not succumb to his feelings. Reason said she might be a spy
for her uncle, using her beautiful face, her sweet, guileless
countenance, to pry secrets from him.

He must be on his guard. Damn, it was
difficult! Especially with Bridei around, talking easily and
comfortably, as if they were on a pleasant ride with one of their
sisters in the mountains of Gwynedd, rather than on a sensitive
diplomatic mission, accompanied by a woman who was kin of their
fiercest enemy!

She had some hostility toward the Britons,
that was obvious. He’d heard the anger in her voice when she spoke
of how his people had slaughtered hers, seen her face change and
grow remote and stricken as they passed the burned-out Saxon
hamlet. Although he believed she truly cared for him, that she
wouldn’t do anything to hurt him personally, her resentment and
hostility toward his people might still cause her to undermine the
cause he fought for.

He wanted to curse aloud. Bridei had
entangled him in this wretched mess. If not for Bridei, Arthur
might have appointed some other man to guard Eastra. Of course,
then he would always worry how she was being treated. What he truly
wished was that Arthur had refused to accept her as hostage
altogether. There should have been no question that a woman was not
acceptable, even if she were Cerdic’s kinswoman. Why had Arthur
done it? Because it gave him a chance to offer up Mordred as his
own hostage? An opportunity to get his troublesome son out of the
way?