Born of the Sun (24 page)

“Not all are Saxons,” Naille replied a little grimly. “About half are Britons.”

“Britons are joining with Saxons in fighting?”

“In training to fight,” Naille corrected. “The boys can use some training. I saw that well enough at Beranbyrg. We outnumbered them, and they beat us into the ground. We have never learned the skills of battle. It will be well if the young ones do.”

The priest turned to him in incredulity. “And this Saxon prince … this Ceawlin … is training the boys who will fight against him?”

Naille slanted the priest a return look. “He does not think we will take up arms against him again. Coinmail swore he would not when Ceawlin gave him his life at Beranbyrg.”

“Did Coinmail swear for all the Atrebates?”

“No.”

“Ah,” said the priest. “But this Ceawlin does not realize that?”

“I do not know what Ceawlin realizes. All I do know is that Gereint wanted to train with the Saxons and I said he could. Ceawlin and I have not discussed the subject further.”

“He is very young, this prince,” Father Mai said as they progressed across the yard. “And naive.”

“Young he may be,” Naille returned, and now the grimness was more pronounced, “but I do not think Ceawlin is ever naive. Ah,” and he raised a hand as the door of the villa opened and a girl came out. “There is Niniane.”

Father Mai was favorably impressed with the Princess Niniane, who was young and lovely and gentle of manner. Such a wife, he felt, would make an excellent missionary for Christ. “I will send for Ceawlin,” she said to Naille after she had greeted the priest. She turned to call something in Saxon to one of the thanes within earshot. The young man looked up, grinned at her and went off.

“Where is Ceawlin?” Naille asked.

“He could be anywhere. He says it keeps the men alert and doing their best if they are not sure when he will suddenly appear to watch them.” She gave Father Mai a pretty smile. “I am so happy you have come, Father. It means so much to me, that I am to be married in my Christian faith.”

“I am happy also, my lady.” He looked fleetingly at her figure. Naille had said she was to have a child, but there were no visible signs as yet.

Niniane said, “Let us go insi … Oh, good, here comes Ceawlin now.”

Father Mai looked in the direction she was looking and his eyes widened with surprise as they alighted on the young man who was coming across the courtyard. Ceawlin had evidently been with the wrestlers, for he was still stripped to the waist, and as he came up to them he said to his wife, “Sorry. My shirt and tunic got lost somewhere.” Then he looked at Naille.

“Prince,” Naille said instantly, “may I introduce Father Mai. He has said he will be happy to marry you in the Christian faith.”

Ceawlin smiled at the priest. “I am pleased to meet you, Father.” His look and his voice were perfectly gracious, his British flawless. “Such a marriage means a great deal to my wife.”

Father Mai looked with stunned surprise at the half-naked young man before him. Naille had deferred to him unhesitatingly, had presented the priest as if they were in the great hall of Camelot and Ceawlin were the high king. The prince’s teeth were very white in his tanned face, his eyes an extraordinary shade of blue. Father Mai found himself smiling back. He was a tall man himself, but he had to look up to meet the Saxon’s eyes. He realized he was staring and searched his brain for a reply to the prince’s pleasantry. Then behind him he heard Niniane say, “I’ll get you another shirt, Ceawlin. Come in, please, Father, and let me offer you something to eat.”

The Saxon prince held the door for the priest and they went in out of the sun. Niniane led the way to a room that was comfortably furnished with well-worn wicker furniture and then disappeared to get a shirt for her husband. Ceawlin sat down, not at all embarrassed by his lean brown shirtless torso. He smiled engagingly at Naille and said, “Gereint is doing very well.”

“I saw him as I came in,” Naille answered. “But I admit I was surprised to see Ferris and Owain and Druce as well.”

Ceawlin shrugged his shoulders and the motion set off a ripple of muscles in his upper arms. “You know boys. Once they find out there is weapon training going on, nothing can keep them away.”

“How old are you, Prince?” Father Mai asked.

“Eighteen,” said Ceawlin.

Father Mai looked at Naille but the Briton did not appear to share his amusement that this eighteen-year-old should be speaking so easily of “boys.” Niniane came in with a shirt for her husband and he put it on. Then she sat on the stool that was next to Ceawlin’s knees and looked expectantly at the priest.

“When will it be convenient for you to marry us, Father?” she asked.

“I shall be here for at least two weeks,” the priest replied. “Whenever you like within that period.”

A girl came in the door of the room carrying a tray. She put it down on a table and Niniane smiled and said, “Thank you, Meghan.”

“Meghan is happy here, I understand,” Naille remarked as the girl left the room. “I was speaking to her uncle at the market last week.”

“I am glad to hear that.” Niniane handed cups of beer to the men. “She is a very good worker. And it is nice for me to have a few women around. All these men!”

“Niniane likes to put people to work,” said Ceawlin. There was an undertone in his voice that the priest did not quite understand.

His wife came back to her stool and sat down again. “Ceawlin and I think it would be nice to have a wedding feast,” she said, ignoring her husband’s comment. “We would like to invite all the families who have been so good to us these last months. What do you think, Naille?”

Naille stared at her small, innocent face. He was not sure he liked the idea at all. Lately he had been wondering if perhaps he had allowed Ceawlin to insinuate himself into the Atrebates tribe a little too easily. He had never intended the prince to become so integral a part of local life when he had agreed to allow him to stay at Bryn Atha. He had envisioned Bryn Atha as an isolated island of Saxons, safely under his eye. It was not working out as he had expected. Even this business of Gereint … It had seemed such a good idea at the time, to get the Saxon to train his own enemies. But …

“I know so little of Christians,” Ceawlin was saying to the priest with his most charming little-boy look. “My thanes would find it of great interest, to see a real Christian wedding.”

“A wonderful idea!” the priest said heartily. “We shall invite all the faithful who can come.”

As Naille met Ceawlin’s celestial sea-blue eyes, he had the distinct feeling that he had been outmaneuvered.

They were married a week later, on a day of cloudless blue sky and brilliant sun. Ceawlin and his men had hunted all week, bringing in a wide variety of game which Niniane and the three girls who were now living at Bryn Atha cooked for the company along with vegetables from the villa garden and loaves of white bread baked from wheat. Tables had been set up all over the large reception room, and the food was put on big wooden platters so the guests could serve themselves. Ceawlin had made sure there was a quantity of beer.

Naille found himself seated next to Sigurd at the main table, with Alanna and their older children on his other side. Naille thought the Saxon seemed a little subdued today and said, with seeming casualness, “You do not mind that your prince weds in a Christian ceremony?”

“Of course not.” Sigurd was clearly surprised by the question. That was not it, then, Naille thought. “It was very nice,” the Saxon added courteously. They were all courteous, these Saxons. It was a constant surprise to Naille, who had always had very different visions of the ancient enemy.

What would Coinmail think, Naille wondered, to see his people supping cheek by jowl with Saxon warriors? Of course, Coinmail had given Niniane to them. Naille had been present when Cynric had asked for her for his son. He could not complain, then, about this wedding.

And what Naille had said to the priest might, after all, prove true. Niniane might convert Ceawlin. He knew Alanna thought she would. Why, then, did Naille himself find the thought so unlikely?

The noise in the room was growing louder and louder. Naille leaned a little forward so he could see Ceawlin, who was on the other side of Sigurd. Niniane was speaking to the priest, who was seated to her right, and Ceawlin was staring at the door, an alert look to the tilt of his head. Naille had a clear view of his profile: the faint hollow under the hard cheekbone, the straight nose, the long, firm mouth. He looked very sober, not at all like a bridegroom. Then someone was running into the room, pushing his way through the tables, heading for Ceawlin. Naille realized with a little ripple of surprise that Ceawlin had heard him coming over all the noise.

“My lord! My lord!” It was one of Ceawlin’s thanes, Naille saw. He thought it was the one they called Bertred. He was very young. “They are coming, my lord!” he gasped out. “I saw them. Edric and a war band. They are coming!”

“You were watching the road to Corinium?” Ceawlin sounded perfectly calm. The voices were dying away now as everyone realized what was happening.

“Yes, my lord. I saw them from the sentry point, my lord. They are seven miles away. Less now. I had to get back here.”

Ceawlin said something in Saxon. Then, “How many?”

“I counted forty, my lord.”

“All right.” Ceawlin stood up. “We will stop them at the ford, the way we planned it.” To Bertred, “They are on foot?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We have time, then.” He looked around the room and said, “I am sorry, my friends, to have to leave so precipitately, but it seems we have business elsewhere. The queen has sent a war band for me and I do not want to disappoint it.” His eyes were a blaze of color in his tanned face. “Stay and enjoy your food. I will be back later.”

“There are forty of them, Prince!” It was the voice of the priest. Naille looked his way and saw Niniane’s white, stricken face.

The Saxon thanes were all heading for the door. “Well, there are seventeen of us.” Ceawlin gave the priest a cocky grin. “The odds are about right.”

“Eighteen, my lord!” It was a young British voice and it was a stunned moment before Naille realized it was his son who was on his feet and heading after the thanes.

“Nineteen!” said Ferris from a table in the middle of the room, and he was standing too.

“Twenty!” said another voice.

Then, “Twenty-one!”

Naille stared in numbed horror as the boys of his tribe all began to pour after the Saxons. Then he got his voice.
“Gereint!”

His son was already in the doorway, but he turned. “This is not your fight,” Naille said over the heads of the diners. All activity in the room had stopped, as if frozen in time.

“Yes, Father, it is.” The boy’s voice was respectful but firm. “If the Saxon eorls ever get a grip on Atrebates land, they will push us out. That is what Ceawlin says, and I believe him. If he wins, he will be our good lord and take care of us. I believe that too. So it is our fight, you see.”

Naille’s head whipped around to where the Saxon prince was standing. Ceawlin’s face was very grave. “You have done this,” Naille said to him.

“I have said nothing to Gereint that I did not say to you,” the prince replied. His voice was very quiet, very calm. “But I will say this to you now, Naille. You are the leader of your people. If you do not want these boys to follow me, then I will not take them.”

“No!”’

“Quiet, Gereint.” Ceawlin spoke very softly but Gereint fell silent. Naille looked at his son. It did not seem as if anyone in the room was even breathing.

“All right,” the Briton heard himself saying. His voice sounded oddly far away. “They may go.”

Gereint’s face lit like a candle. “Thank you, Father!” and he turned and ran out of the room. Sigurd had already left the table, and when Naille sat back down, it was just himself, Alanna, their two daughters, and the priest. Niniane was following the men out the door.

“Are you mad, Naille?” Alanna cried at him. Her face was ashen. “They will still be outnumbered!”

“He will be safe, Alanna.”

“How can you say that?”

“I saw Ceawlin fight at Beranbyrg. He is worth ten men by himself alone. And the boy is right. Our best interest lies with Ceawlin.”

“How did this happen?” Alanna wailed. “I don’t understand. No one expected such a thing. No one!”

“Ceawlin did,” Naille replied tiredly. “Else why did he keep a guard posted on the road?”

There was a long silence. Then, “He never said anything to us.”

“I always thought he was a very clever young man,” said Naille. “But I realize now that I have underestimated him. Gereint is right. He is not a man to make an enemy of.” He looked around the room, now in a state of upheaval. “Well, I suppose I had better go and find a weapon as well.”

“You are not going!”

He stood and looked down into his wife’s appalled eyes. He gave her a crooked smile. “You know, Alanna, it will be nice to be on the winning side for a change.” And he followed his son out the door.

“And to think I almost didn’t post the sentries on the two roads today,” Ceawlin said to Sigurd as they saddled their horses in the stableyard. “I almost didn’t, you know. It seemed a shame to have two of the thanes miss the banquet. There is little enough fun around Bryn Atha these days, with everyone sweating in the fields every time Niniane says something is ready to be harvested.”

“Niniane is only being careful for our future. It’s well we have someone who knows about growing food.”

“I know, I know. Niniane is always right.” But Ceawlin did not look at all irritated. His eyes were blazing. “Gods!” he said. “What luck! Edric
did
come after all.”

“I don’t know that I would call it luck,” Sigurd replied a little dryly. “He is obviously hoping to surprise us. He took the longer Corinium road.” Sigurd raised his eyebrows and for a moment looked very like his father. “You were right to post guards on both roads, Ceawlin. But I cannot understand why my father did not warn us.”

“Edric got Cutha out of the way somehow.” All around them men were saddling up, Saxons and Atrebates together. “I want everyone in the courtyard in two minutes!” Ceawlin called. Then, to Sigurd, “Bring Bayvard for me, Sigurd. I must see Niniane before I leave.” Sigurd was busy tightening his girth and merely nodded in reply. Ceawlin tied his reins to the fence and left the stableyard.