The Dragon Prince (2 page)

Once again, Rhun wondered what he had gotten
himself into. He’d sworn a soldier’s oath to Arthur, vowing to
fight Britain’s enemies. Now he defied his orders and set one of
the hated Saxons free.
But she is female and a child,
his
mind screamed. Then he thought of all the British women and
children who had perished at the hands of Saxon raiders, or been
brutally enslaved. Where was the right in this thing? All he saw
was the pain and suffering of innocents.

He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.
A voice inside him seemed to answer. Rhiannon said the voice was
his true spirit. The priest said it was his conscience. Either way,
he could not deny it.

Opening his eyes, he looked again at the
Saxon. He nodded to her. “Go,” he said. He gestured toward the
wildwood beyond. “Go in peace, and may God be with you.”

Her eyes beseeched him, as if instead of
fearing him, she clung to him for safety and reassurance. It made a
lump form in his throat.

He grew angry. She made a mockery of his
soldier’s oath, his bright dreams of glory and honor. Why could she
not simply leave him be? He forced his face to sternness. “Go!” he
shouted.

She gave him one last helpless look then
moved like a deer into the forest, soft-footed and graceful, a
splash of light against the shadowy green.

Rhun sighed. His decision to be a warrior,
to fight for God and Britain, had once seemed so clear and true,
but already it was tainted. The voice inside him spoke again. It
told him this moment of harsh reckoning was only the beginning.

Britain, near Londinium,
A.D.
540

The Saxon longhouse was brightly lit, with
oil lamps set in recesses along the walls and a steady fire glowing
in the main hearth. British and Saxon warriors sat on stools and
benches around the room and eyed each other warily.

“We have come here today to speak of peace,
a lasting peace for all of Britain.” Arthur, the high king, opened
the discussions in a calm, ringing voice. Rhun ap Maelgwn, seated
beside him, thought how royal and noble his commander appeared.
Arthur had the dark coloring and high-browed, strong-featured
countenance of his Roman grandfather Ambrosius, and the commanding
presence of a man descended from emperors.

But Cerdic, the Saxon leader, was equally
imposing. As tall and broad-shouldered as Arthur, with tawny gold
hair and a thick, powerful neck, he looked much like the gold-maned
stallion on his battle shield. As he watched Arthur, his pale blue
eyes were as cold and forbidding as the western sea.

“Would any of us here argue about the cost
of these past years of fighting?” Arthur continued. “Both sides
have lost good men and loved ones. Worse, these many years and many
lives later, is the fact that very little has been settled, despite
the bloodshed. It’s time for a truce. Time for us to sit down and
apportion the land between us, before we destroy it altogether.” He
made a graceful motion with his hands, and the ruby eye in the
eagle ring he wore gleamed blood red in the firelight.

He paused and Bridei, Rhun’s brother,
repeated his words in Saxon. Then Cerdic spoke, his voice sounding
harsh and guttural after Bridei’s musical tones.

When he was finished, Bridei translated.
“Cerdic says he has thought much the same thing, that Briton and
Saxon have fought until the whole island is red with blood and all
the women weep in grief. He agrees it is time to put aside weapons
and to settle the matter with words and reason.”

As Bridei finished the translation, he
smiled faintly, and Rhun wondered if Cerdic had spoken quite as
eloquently as his brother made it appear. He would not put it past
Bridei to have altered the Saxon’s response to give it a more
dramatic phrasing. His younger brother was oftentimes too clever
for his own good.

Rhun shot Bridei a warning look. Bridei’s
smile widened and his dark blue eyes sparkled with amusement. Rhun
shook his head and directed his attention to his commander once
more.

Some of the tension had left Arthur’s face,
and he looked less careworn and grim, more like the soldier to whom
Rhun had first sworn an oath over ten years ago. Back then, there
had been fire in Arthur’s gray eyes, a ringing conviction in his
voice. The years and their losses had dimmed the fire, although it
was not yet quenched. “I’m pleased we can meet as equals and speak
of these things,” Arthur said. “This is a great day for both our
peoples.”

Cerdic looked to a far corner of the room
and nodded to a servant. The woman came forward with a tray full of
small gold cups. Cerdic spoke again and Bridei translated. “Let us
share a cup of mead to commemorate our resolve this day.”

Rhun watched Cerdic’s face, searching his
cunning, wintry blue eyes for some hint of his thoughts.

The woman picked up two of the cups and
handed them to Cerdic and Arthur. Rhun’s gaze followed her as she
retrieved more cups and passed them around. Only once before had he
seen hair the silvery, flaxen shade of the serving woman’s long
braids. The memory triggered a sharp pain in his gut. It had been
over ten years since he carried the Saxon girl through a burning
village to the dubious safety of the forest. What were the chances
she’d survived, alone and helpless as he’d left her?

The Saxon had been on his mind nearly every
day these past years. Sometimes at night, he lay on his bedroll and
closed his eyes, conjuring the image of her glowing beauty. She
seemed to represent something good and true. The thought he’d
rescued her brought him satisfaction, if not peace of mind.

He hoped the act helped atone for all the
blood he had shed as a soldier, the suffering he had caused. War
was much uglier and less glorious than he could ever have imagined.
Even if the cause was a righteous one, the means used to win it
were so brutal and cruel they left a permanent stain upon a man’s
soul.

The woman reached him and held out a cup.
Rhun smiled at her, thinking how very fair she was. Their gazes met
for a moment, and he experienced a pang of longing. It might be
her, these many years later. This woman had the same fine features,
the same luminous skin and clear blue eyes.

She handed him the cup, then abruptly turned
and hurried away. Rhun watched her, wondering if his bold stare had
offended her.

He continued to observe her as she carried
cups to the other men. She wore a gown of fine blue linen
embroidered in yellow and rose at the hem and neck, and a gold
girdle around her waist. No serving woman would possess such
finery. Could she be Cerdic’s wife? She was younger than the Saxon
chieftain by a score of years or more, but maybe his first wife had
died.

When all the cups were passed around, Arthur
and Cerdic exchanged formal toasts. Rhun hardly listened. His
attention was focused on the woman, who had retreated to the corner
of the room. He could swear she was staring at him, and he felt
acutely aware of her also, as if her gaze had set his flesh ablaze.
Why should she affect him like this? Unless...

His mind whirled with the incredible
possibility she truly might be the Saxon girl he had rescued so
many years ago. Had she recognized him in that brief moment when he
smiled at her?

Astounding that they should see each other
again, and that she had survived and ended up in Cerdic’s
household. Was she kin of his? Or wife? The idea repulsed Rhun. It
didn’t seem right that such a delicate, ethereal creature should be
forced to share the bed of a ruthless barbarian like Cerdic.

Yet it was likely. What else would she be
doing in Cerdic’s longhouse? If she were his daughter or other
female relative, she would be wedded to some other man by now.
Saxon girls married young, the better to breed many warriors. It
was not so different among Rhun’s own people, the Cymry. It was not
uncommon for girls of thirteen or fourteen winters to be wed,
although his father refused to discuss marrying off Rhun’s sisters
Elen and Anwyl, and they were fifteen and seventeen already.

Rhun repressed a sigh. It was good to know
the girl hadn’t perished as he’d feared, that she’d been rescued
and lived to womanhood. But it troubled him to see her in these
circumstances. He almost wished he had been left with only a
memory. Then he could imagine her living among the forest fairies,
her bright beauty indestructible and eternal.

When the toasting was finished, Arthur
sought to discuss the details of the truce. But Cerdic was not
quite ready to leave the past behind. He began a long recitation of
all he had suffered at the hands of the British. He told how nearly
all his kin had been killed, his mother and wife and sons and
daughters murdered.

His words opened raw wounds for the British,
who had suffered their own soul-wrenching losses. Arthur sought to
turn the conversation to the future, but Cerdic stubbornly
resisted. Rhun could sense his fellow soldiers growing angry, and
both sides shifted restlessly, their hands reaching unconsciously
for their sword belts, searching for weapons that were not there.
Rhun was glad Arthur had insisted everyone entering the longhouse
leave all swords and knives in a pile by the door.

Perhaps the woman also sensed the growing
tension, for she stepped forward with a bronze ewer and, moving
lightly around the room, began to refill everyone’s cups. Rhun
watched her more closely this time, more and more certain it was
she, the Saxon he had saved those long years ago. He also observed
Cerdic’s reaction to the woman. Surely if she were the chieftain’s
wife, he would nod or look at her. But Cerdic took no more notice
of her than he would any servant.

Cups filled, they made more toasts, and the
mellow warmth of the mead seemed to dispel some of the tension in
the room. Arthur brought up the idea of exchanging hostages to
provide surety for the truce, and Cerdic appeared amenable to the
idea. Rhun’s thoughts turned back to the woman. He’d made up his
mind he must speak to her somehow, if only to tell her how pleased
he was that his worst fears for her had not come to pass.

The discussions dragged on, hampered by the
need for Bridei to translate everything and the cautious, tense
nature of the occasion. At last, Cerdic called for a break, and
Arthur agreed. It was decided the Britons would return to their
camp outside the village for the night and talks would resume in
the morning.

As everyone rose, Rhun looked for the woman.
He was disappointed when he did not see her. Had she gone to a
private area of the dwelling? Or slipped out a back entrance and
vanished altogether?

Bridei came up beside him, and the two men
gathered up their weapons and walked out of the longhouse together.
“By Llud’s silver hand,” Bridei swore, “I’ll be glad to get back to
camp and have a cup of wine and some food. I’m starving. I’ve never
fancied mead. Give me good Gaulish wine any day.”

“The woman who served us,” Rhun said. “I
wonder where she went?”

Bridei raised a brow. “I’ve never known you
to be taken with a pretty face, and certainly not when it belongs
to one of the enemy.”

“God willing, there will soon be peace
between our peoples,” Rhun said irritably. “Besides, I only want to
talk to her.”

“Talk to her? Have you forgotten, brother,
that you don’t speak Saxon?”

“Maybe she knows a word of two of Briton,
and I am not completely without understanding of her language.”
Once before we met and understood each other,
he thought.
We needed no words then. Why should we need them now?

Bridei shook his head. “I suppose it had to
happen sometime—that your loins would get the better of your wits.
Just be careful, brother. As one who is experienced in these
matters, I can tell you that dallying with royal-blooded maidens
can be a dangerous business, even when they are
not
our
enemies. If you recall, only a day ago you said this truce might be
the answer to all Arthur has fought for these past years. Take care
you are not the one who ruins your idol’s dream.”

“I would never do anything to jeopardize
this truce!” Rhun retorted hotly. “And furthermore, I have no
intention of dallying with this woman. Indeed, I suspect she is
Cerdic’s
wife.
I would be risking much more than peace for
Britain if I were foolish enough to pursue her!”

“Cerdic’s wife?” Bridei made a face. “Seems
a shame a hoary old goat like him should have such a comely lass
warming his bed. But to the victor go the spoils. He probably
killed her father to have her. He’s a savage bastard. I think
pious, noble Arthur has overreached himself this time. Cerdic may
agree to a truce, but he’ll break it as soon as it becomes
inconvenient.”

Bridei’s words aroused a gnawing bitterness
inside Rhun. Had he saved the Saxon only to doom her to a grim,
onerous life, married to a crude man who scarce seemed to notice
her?
If she were my wife
,
I would not have her serve my
enemies like a slave. I would dress her in finery and jewels and
seat her by my side like a queen.

As the two men walked out the gate of the
timber-walled palisade, Bridei continued his questioning. “If you
know you can’t have her, why do you want to speak to this
woman?”

Rhun pressed his lips together. He was not
about to tell Bridei the tale of his rescue of the Saxon girl all
those years ago. Although he didn’t regret his actions, he had
disobeyed a direct order. Cador had later been chastised by Arthur
for his brutality in killing women and children during the raid,
but that did not entirely excuse Rhun’s defiance. He had no desire
to reveal to Bridei—cynical, opportunistic Bridei—his long ago
breach of honor.

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you? I
guess I’ll have to find out my own way.” Bridei grinned, alerting
Rhun that his brother had some mischief in mind.