Page 67 of The Bear's Heart
With a worried frown, as though it went against his better judgement, he took my arm and helped me walk the full length of the practice grounds. Our progress remained painfully slow, and by the time we reached the far end, the morning had advanced, and the fortress teemed with life.
At the rails of the horse pens, I rested, breathing carefully, and wishing for some of the painkillers Sian had told me about. When I glanced up from my last contraction, Llacheu was running down the slope toward us, his face suffused with excitement.
“Father!” He saw me. “Gwen!” He noticed my face. “Are you all right?” Not waiting for an answer, he looked back at his father. “Uncle Cei sent me to find you. A rider’s come from Caer Baddan. He said you need to come and see her.”
Arthur seemed torn. He looked at me, then at his son again. “Go and tell them we’ll be there in a while. The Queen has reached her time. If the rider’s come all the way from Caer Baddan, then whatever news she brings will wait a little longer.” He paused, then said, as though noticing for the first time, “She? It’s a woman?”
Llacheu nodded, his curls bouncing jauntily, reminding me vividly of his father– and of little Medraut in faraway Caer Legeion. But I refused to think of that now and pushed the unwelcome thought away.
I was curious myself to see what woman had been sent bearing a message for us. With Arthur’s help, I struggled up the slope toward the hall, stopping half-way to breathe my way through yet another contraction.
“Go and fetch Donella,” Arthur told his son, who was dawdling impatiently beside us in frustration. “Gwen needs her– now.”
Llacheu ran off, apparently more eager to be sent on another errand than he was to find out what the messenger wanted.
I didn’t protest, although I didn’t think there was much for Donella to do as yet. She wasn’t likely to have what I really needed– an epidural– tucked away in her skirts, or a canister of gas and air– anything to lessen the excruciating pain. I was even considering asking someone to whack me over the head with a blunt object. Nothing, not even Sian’s grisly descriptions, had prepared me for the reality of labor.
We rounded the corner of the great hall at last and saw that the mysterious female messenger from Caer Baddan was Bretta, the girl who’d waited on me there. Her horse, more of a spindly pony, stood with its ugly head hanging between its knees, its scrawny sides heaving. With her ashen face and thin, blue-tinged lips betraying the fact that she was close to fainting, the girl was being supported by Cei and his wife, Coventina. Merlin stood by their side, his mouth a grim line. A group of warriors and women had clustered around the four of them to see what was going on.
I would have run to her, but my condition put a stop to that. It appeared we were both in need of medical aid.
“Arthur.” Cei’s big face glowed pink with the awkwardness of his situation.
At the mention of Arthur’s name, Bretta’s head came up, her face grey as dirty snow, and her eyes red-rimmed and wide with something worse than fear. Coventina had her arm about the girl’s narrow waist, her kindly face furrowed with worry.
Another contraction swept through me, more forceful than the rest, and I staggered, digging my fingers into Arthur’s arm. A low groan escaped my lips, and all heads turned to stare.
“The child is coming,” Arthur said by way of explanation. “She’s been walking to ease its passage.” He glanced at Bretta and Cei. “Bring the girl inside the Hall, and she can give us her message there.”
My contraction passed and taking my arm, Arthur escorted me through the open doors. Cei and Coventina almost had to carry Bretta, who seemed unable to walk unaided, her legs like wet spaghetti. Inside, the Hall was gloomy, the only light coming from the open doors and the glowing embers of the fire in the central pit. Coventina released her hold on Bretta and approached me, more worry etched into her face. Perhaps more so than me, she understood how dangerous childbirth could be.
Donella arrived, with Llacheu running at her heels. She paused on the threshold, taking in the wilting girl in Cei’s arms and me, upright for the moment, my hands clasped round my belly.
I indicated the girl. “Take care of Bretta first. I’m only having contractions, and any fool can see she’s ill.”
Donella’s gaze went to Arthur, who gave her a curt nod, and she approached the girl, whom Cei was lowering to a stool beside the fire. “Let’s be havin’ a look at ye.”
Bretta waved her away. “No.” Her voice scarcely rose above a whisper. “No. I ’ave to speak.”
“What is it?” Cei asked. “Tell us what message you bring, girl.”
“The king.” The words came on a hiss, as though she had no breath left in her body. “I ’ave to tell the king.”
I sank onto another stool, Coventina hovering over me like a mother hen.
Arthur took a step away from me, and closer to Bretta. “Go on. What message do you bring?”
The gloom of the hall pressed in all around us, heavy and doom-laden, as though whatever this girl had to say was so momentous it would have a lasting effect on all those assembled there. Another contraction took me. Gripping the edge of the stool, I set my jaw to ride it out, but couldn’t prevent myself from doubling over.
“You need to get to your bed,” Coventina said, but I shook my head in determination.
Arthur stood over Bretta. “I am your king. Speak, girl.”
She lifted her head and gazed up at him. Her bloodless face blanched further, if that were possible. “Ye ordered Magistrate Bassus, and through ’im our king, Melwas, to sort out the problem of the poor ’omeless and orphaned children of Caer Baddan…” Her words hung in the silent hall as everyone listened to her.
“I did,” Arthur said. “What of it?”
She grimaced. “’E took ye at yer word. Melwas sent ’is men into the city and rounded up all what ’e called th’vagrant children into the forum.” She took a long breath, her thin chest rising and falling quickly. “Then ’e marched ’em to Dinas Brent, ’is strong’old. Once there, ’e chose a few of the strongest boys and the prettiest girls to be ’is slaves. The rest…” She paused, and a sob wracked her exhausted body. “’E ’ad ’is soldiers cut their throats and throw ’em into the marshes. ’E said they’d please the old gods wi’ their sacrifice.”
