The Dragon Prince (41 page)

“Princess, are you well?” Arthur’s voice
came from a distance. She heard him calling out for help. In
seconds, strong arms gripped her shoulders on either side. Beli
spoke, his voice tender and concerned. “Come, lady, you must lie
down.”

In moments, she was herself again and
resisting Beli’s attempts to take off her sandals. “Nay, I don’t
need to lie down, merely sit for a while.”

“It’s amazing she has managed this journey,”
Arthur said. “She cannot be far along with the babe, and most women
are tired and weak during the first few months.”

“Babe! What babe?” Owain’s voice rose in a
roar. “You mean to tell me she is with child?”

“So she said,” Arthur replied. “She told me
that she was carrying Rhun ap Maelgwn’s child.”

Beli gasped. “I’m going to be an uncle!”

Owain swore. “Of all the foolishness! All
these days of riding and eating camp food. She might well have
miscarried!”

“Nay, not this babe.” Eastra touched her
stomach tenderly and smiled. “Morguese told me the Goddess has
special plans for it.”

Owain continued to grumble. Beli hugged her.
Arthur said, “I would willingly offer you the use of my tent,
princess. But the fact is, my army is already on the march, and I
must take my leave of you.”

“When will the battle take place?” Eastra
asked. “This day, or the next?”

“It will take all of today to reach Eburacum
and secure our position. The war horns will not sound until early
tomorrow morning.”

The dull ache of despair threatened to weigh
her down. Her worst fears were on the verge of being realized. Yet
there was hope Rhun would escape the slaughter. If Rhun were still
on his way, they might be able to intercept him before he joined
Arthur’s army. She looked at Owain, wondering how she was ever
going to be able to convince him to let her back on a horse.

* * *

It was a delightful dream. Eastra was
kissing him. Her mouth felt as light and caressing as the stroke of
a butterfly’s wing against his skin. She drew back and smiled, as
beautiful and radiant as the most resplendent sunrise. He leaned
nearer, hungry for another taste of her sweet, sweet lips.
Something seemed to be in the way. He looked down. Her belly was
swollen, round and firm as an unripened fruit. He touched it in
awe, and beneath the taut skin there was a ripple of movement. He
met her gaze and she leaned forward, their lips touching. Seeking
to deepen the kiss, he reached out for her...

The glorious reverie vanished, and Rhun
found himself lying on the narrow bed in his childhood sleeping
chamber, clutching the light summer blankets tightly in his arms.
Disappointed and restless, he rolled off the bed and began to pace.
He heard a cock crow in the distance and knew it was almost
morning. Not that he had anywhere to go or anything to do this day.
He grimaced at the ironic thought. Here he was, a prisoner in his
own father’s fortress. What an ignominious, irritating fate. How
could Maelgwn do such a thing to him? And how could gentle Rhiannon
allow it?

A moment after he had the thought, there was
a knock at the door. As soon as he snarled the word “enter,” his
stepmother appeared carrying a tray of food. She looked at him and
said, “You seem out of sorts this morning, Rhun. What’s wrong?”

“I had a dream,” he answered, surprising
himself. Since waking and realizing the heady, sensual fantasy
wasn’t real, he’d sought to put it out of his mind. But now, seeing
Rhiannon, he couldn’t help thinking about Eastra’s swollen belly
and the way her flesh had rippled beneath his fingers, magically
alive. “I dreamt of Eastra,” he said grudgingly. He paced across
the small room. “She was with child.”

“Maybe it’s a true dream,” Rhiannon
said.

He turned to look at her, and a prickling
sensation ran down his spine. His stepmother’s expression was as
serene as usual, but was there not a hint of amusement in her soft
blue eyes. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, smiling faintly. “You’ve been
intimate with Eastra, and that’s the purpose of coupling, after
all.” She raised a brow. “It’s not all about pleasure, Rhun. There
are other reasons for a man and a woman to be drawn to each
other.”

He took a step toward her. “Are you telling
me...” He let his voice trail off. “But she said nothing to me...
and I held her in my arms, saw her naked...”

“The signs are subtle in the beginning.
Sometimes a woman doesn’t even know herself.”

He took a sharp breath. “Tell me. Is Eastra
with child?”

Rhiannon nodded.

“How long have you known?” His tone was
accusatory, angry.

“Since she came to Deganwy. Nay, it was
before that. I saw her in a dream, much as you did.”

“And you said
nothing?”
He was
outraged. Always before, he’d trusted Rhiannon, seen her as an ally
against his father’s uncertain temper. But now she allowed him to
be kept a prisoner, and had just revealed she’d kept a momentous
secret from him for weeks.

“Eastra asked me not to, and it really is
her place to tell you.”

“Why?” He felt as if a hole had opened up in
the ground in front of him. If only he’d known, he would have done
so many things differently.

“You would have to ask her that. Maybe she
wanted to feel that when you finally told her you loved her, it was
because of what you felt for
her,
not because of the
babe.”

“Of course I love her. How can she doubt
that?”

“Ah, but you love your duty more, don’t you?
You were planning to leave her, to go off and fight Arthur’s war,
knowing you might be killed.” Rhiannon shook her head. “That’s
hardly love, as I reckon it.”

“But... I had no choice.” His voice came out
hoarse and agonized. How vividly the turmoil returned, the sense of
being torn in two. “I swore an oath. I was Arthur’s man long before
I met Eastra.”

“That’s how you see the matter. But Eastra
saw it differently. Because she’s a woman, not a warrior.”

Rhun inhaled sharply. The urge to see
Eastra, to hold her in his arms, was almost overwhelming. “If I’d
known, I would have at least said a proper good-bye to her. Told
her I loved her.” He shook his head. “Made some preparations to see
she was taken care of, that the babe was named my heir...” He
looked at Rhiannon. “But now it’s too late. She’s gone back to her
own people.”

Her expression was tender. “As long as you
both live, it’s never too late.”

“Aye.” He looked around the room, trying to
think what he needed to take with him. Again, he met Rhiannon’s
gaze. “The battle is probably already over, or soon will be. Can
you convince my father to finally set me free?”

She nodded. “I think I can. He has wrestled
with his conscience in this matter. He feels guilty for imposing
his will upon you, a man grown.”

“He’d
better
feel guilty,” Rhun
muttered. Then he began to pack.

* * *

“We’ll go no farther.” Owain turned to look
at Eastra, his face stern and forbidding.

“But we can’t see the whole battlefield from
here,” she protested. “What if Rhun arrives with reinforcements and
I can’t reach him before he joins the fray?”

Owain gave her another forbidding look. “Oh,
and certainly if he does appear, I’m going to let you go riding
across a battlefield to find him! You can forget that nonsense.
You’re going to remain on this hilltop if I have to tie you to one
of those rocks!” He jerked his head toward a stony outcrop
overgrown with heather.

Eastra looked at Beli, wondering if, when
the time came, he would help her. But maybe she wouldn’t have to
face that circumstance. Maybe Rhun wouldn’t come.

But why not? The question gnawed at her.
He’d been so determined, so insistent he must go to Arthur’s aid.
What had happened? Had he been hurt on the way here? Killed? Her
already distressed stomach heaved at the thought.

She’d wanted to ride south and try to
intercept Rhun before he reached the battlefield, but Owain had
dissuaded her. There was no way of knowing which direction Rhun
might arrive from, the Cymru warrior insisted. It was better to
ride along behind the British army train and hope they would see
him. But they had not. And now the battle was about to begin and
there was no sign of him.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for
the horror ahead. The idea of watching two armies clash, of seeing
men kill each other, repulsed her like nothing she’d ever faced
before. Yet if there was a chance Rhun might be fighting this day,
she could not forsake him. She would call upon the Goddess to send
him strength, to guide his sword arm, to see him safely through
this battle.

She wished fervently she’d learned enough
magic from Morguese to know how to make a charm of protection. But
another part of her mind wondered why there was any reason to think
the Goddess would intervene. Rhiannon had told her the Great Mother
cared nothing for the petty concerns of men, their childish search
for power, their passion for killing and death.

The battlefield was spread out below them,
and they could see the two armies filling the valley. From this
distance, they looked like a swarm of insects, or two snakes, the
flash of warriors’ helms and mail shirts like the scales of two
huge serpents slithering into the vale from opposite directions.
She could make out a banner here and there, a splash of color amid
the grays and browns. “Do you see Arthur?” she asked the men.

“Nay,” Owain answered. “But he’s probably
leading one of the cavalry wings. They won’t move in until the
infantry has engaged.” He pointed. “See? Both sides have
reinforcements hidden in the trees and massed along the river. It
will be a long battle. It might last all day.”

Eastra nodded, grimacing. If she could spot
Arthur, then perhaps she would find Rhun.

The Britons’ warhorns sounded, harsh and
strident. The Saxons’ answered. Eastra forgot everything else as
her heart leaped into her throat. She gripped the sapphire necklace
around her neck so tightly her fingers went numb. Watching, she
could tell the Pictish archers had begun their work, for here and
there along the British line, men began to fall. She turned away,
sickened.

“Aye,” Beli said. “It’s best you don’t
watch. It might mark the babe.”

Resolutely, Eastra faced forward once again.
She’d made a vow to see this thing through, and so she would.

The two armies seemed to seep together. She
saw churning dust rise where they were joined. Now the valley was
like a hive of maddened bees, roiling with movement. A dull roar
rose up to the hilltop where they watched. The sound vibrated
through her flesh, filling her with dread.

It seemed to go on for hours. Sweat dripped
down Eastra’s brow. Since she could judge so little about what was
taking place below, her attention gradually shifted to other sights
and sounds around them. She was aware of a curlew scolding from the
grass nearby, warning that they were too close to its nest. She
felt the soft breeze blowing past, sweet with pine and heather. And
she saw flocks of large dark birds flying by.

“Ravens,” Owain said, observing the
direction of her gaze. “It’s said they can hear the clash of arms
from miles distant. They’ve come to feast on the entrails of the
fallen.”

“Llud’s silver hand!” Beli exclaimed.
“That’s no way to speak in front of a lady!”

“She should know what gruesome sights she
might behold if she decides to ride down into the fray,” Owain
answered coldly.

Eastra shivered, even though the sun blazed
down on them. Owain was right. Brave and determined though she
might be, she knew she could not bear to go down into the valley
and see the horrible slaughter taking place there. Men were falling
faster; the ground was thick with bodies. She thought surely it
would be over soon. But then there was the blare of more horns, and
horsemen surged forward from the British side. She looked again for
Arthur and glimpsed a flash of purple at the head of one cavalry
wing. Did Rhun ride at his side? Frantically, she searched for the
familiar red and white banner. There was no sign of it.

The strategy was obviously for the two
groups of horsemen to surround and engulf the Saxon and Pictish
footsoldiers. But Arthur and the other riders were hampered by
narrowness of the valley, and there were so many of the enemy, wave
upon wave of them, surging down from the hills beyond. Cerdic had
chosen well, Eastra thought grimly. He had the advantage in numbers
and the perfect terrain from which to launch his attack. And, if
they had to, his army could fall back to the ruins of the old Roman
fort.

But retreat would not be necessary, Eastra
could tell. There were too many Saxons and Picts for the Britons to
overcome. No matter how many of the enemy they killed, there would
always be more. She saw the British line sag and fall back. The
cavalry surged in to fill the gap. Then they were surrounded. Her
gaze scanned the hills behind the Britons, wondering if they had
more warriors hidden there among the trees. Had Rhun come through
with reinforcements?

There were no more charges by the Britons.
Those men left did not retreat, but fought steadily, yielding
ground with painful slowness. She looked again for Arthur and could
not see his banner anywhere. Had it been dragged down into the
morass of bodies littering the field? Had the high king himself
fallen?

“What’s happening?” she demanded. Throughout
the battle, Beli and Owain and the other men had exchanged only a
few words, and then they spoke so quietly she couldn’t hear what
they were saying.

“It’s as we expected” Beli answered in a
taut voice. “Your uncle has prevailed.”

“Aye,” Owain added. “But what I don’t
understand is why Arthur doesn’t sound the retreat. If the Britons
pulled back now, it would not be a complete massacre.”