Page 68 of The Bear's Heart
A stunned silence hung over the hall. My contraction eased off and I straightened up, horror washing over me. Coventina’s hand rested heavily on my shoulder. Perhaps she thought she needed to restrain me.
“How do you know all this?” Arthur wasn’t disbelieving, he just wanted proof.
“They took me.” Her voice sank further, but in the silence of the room it carried clearly. “Wi’ all me brothers and sisters. I was ’ome visiting ’em, so they did take me, too, even though I’m near a woman grown. They marched all-on-us into the forum and sorted through us. My oldest brother and me, we was put in one group, the little ones in another. I tried to tell ’em I worked for th’magistrate, but they wouldn’t listen. And then they marched us out o’ the city.”
“And no one did anything?” I was aghast. “No one raised a hand to stop them?”
Cei’s honest face furrowed with anger. “How could they? Unarmed townsfolk, near as poor as the children, against armed warriors? They’d have been killed.”
A hush fell over the hall. Outside, a cockerel crowed, and further off a dog barked, as though in another world.
“They took you as a slave?” Arthur’s voice cut the silence. “How did you get away?”
She gulped. “O’ernight they locked all us slaves in a single ’ut. My brother and me did dig under th’wall and, bein’ small, wriggled out. But no one else’d run with us. They said we’d be caught and killed.” She paused. “They was right.” Her head hung. “They saw my brother when ’e climbed o’er the palisade wall. ’E’d let me go first, ’anding me down into the ditch. They…they caught ’im and dragged ’im back. They didn’t see me. I laid meself flat aginst the ground, like a right coward, listenin’ as they killed my brother.”
The enormity of what had befallen this child, for child she really was, hung over everyone in the hall. We lived in a time of danger and violence, but even the listening men, whose way of life was the sword, were shocked at what had happened to these children.
My next contraction interrupted her, this time even stronger than the last. Donella hurried to where I sat, feeling like a beached whale in a far too tight corset. Coventina squatted beside me, one hand on my tight belly, the other holding my hand as I panted in an effort to dispel the pain.
“The Queen.” Donella’s voice rose accusingly. “She needs to be in her bedchamber. This child’s in a hurry.”
“No!” I was determined to hear out Bretta’s story. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t tried to help them, they’d all be alive now.” Guilt weighed more heavily on me than the pressing urge to be rid of this baby from my poor, pain-wracked body.
Arthur shook his head. “Not yours– mine. I should have guessed Melwas would have done something like this.” Was there a hint of false contrition in his voice? Could he have been expecting Melwas to take this action? Or was this a figment of my imagination due to my present overwrought state?
Bretta put her face in her hands and slumped forward on the seat. “All me brothers and sisters be dead. All th’other little ones from Caer Baddan. The few what they did think old enough to be slaves be the only survivors.” She paused, slowly raising her head, and looked straight at me. “There be no orphans left in Caer Baddan to offend yer eyes–my lady.” She spat the last two words out with contempt. Whatever Arthur said, Bretta blamed me, and rightly so.
Tears sprang into my eyes that were nothing to do with the pain of my contractions. “I’m so sorry, Bretta. I had no idea.” What more could I say? I felt like a fool.
Donella helped me to my feet. “Into the bedchamber with you. Now. No more delaying. I’m in charge now.” And with that, she and Coventina ushered me out of the great hall and into my room.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The hum ofvoices came to me over the wall that divided our bedchamber from the main body of the great hall. Voices raised in celebration. Arthur had become a father again, the kingdom had a legitimate heir, and the deaths of a few orphan children were being collectively swept under the rug. Much as the deaths of Ummidia and her daughters had been.
My whole body was tired and sore, but I was alive, which earlier in the day I would have disputed as a possibility. Nothing, not even Sian’s overly explicit account, could have prepared me for the reality of childbirth. I remembered telling Donella and Coventina that I’d changed my mind, the baby couldn’t be born today, and that I intended to curl up and go back to sleep instead. In fact, I’d also told them I never wanted to have sex again and risk getting into the same condition. Arthur could go back to Tangwyn for all I cared; he wasn’t coming near me ever again. Donella had wisely shaken her head and, taking my hand, seen me through the next excruciating contraction.
From the wooden cradle beside the bed came a sleepy snuffling sound, like a puppy. My son. No, our son. Not so long ago, Arthur had taken him into the great hall, still wet from his birth, and held him up above his head for all the assembled warriors and their families to see. Arthur’s voice rang out, full of pride, announcing our son’s name. “Here is your prince, your little Bear Cub, born to be a great king. Amhar of Dumnonia.” A cheer went up, and Arthur, smiling from ear to ear, brought the lustily crying Amhar back to me.
That had been two hours since, and darkness had now fallen outside the hall. Inside, torches had been lit and the clatter and smells of food being served came to me over the wall– a feast to honor their new prince. Joyful music wafted on the air as I slid gingerly out of bed and walked the two steps to Amhar’s crib. Walking was harder than I’d expected, my legs a little wobbly and uncertain, my stomach feeling loose and devoid of muscle, like a deflated party balloon.
Amhar lay on his back, tightly swaddled in a linen shawl, his purple-pink face screwed up like that of a little old man. His mouth worked, but his eyes remained shut, and as I gazed down at him, amazed at the creature Arthur and I had made, he opened his rosebud mouth and began to cry, creakily like a rusty hinge. The door into the side room opened, and Donella came hurrying in.
“Back to bed, milady,” she ordered, bending over the crib. “The little prince is hungry.”
I climbed awkwardly back into bed, and she passed me the tiny bundle that was my son. His little mouth rooted for the nipple, and under Donella’s guidance I managed to get him latched on and suckling. It was the oddest experience. If I’d ever imagined doing this, it had been with a baby bearing my old boyfriend Nathan’s features. This little dark-haired scrap seemed so alien, and yet so natural. In so much as any baby resembles his father, this one seemed to tick all the boxes.
I was sleeping when Arthur came to bed, but his movements disturbed me, a mother’s instincts having me instantly awake. The baby slept on, as Arthur tiptoed noisily toward the crib and stood looking down at his son.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” I said with a sigh. It had taken me no time at all to decide this baby was the one thing I’d always wanted, and forget the strife I’d suffered to bring him into the world.
Arthur nodded, then bent over and ran his finger gently over the baby’s soft cheek. “I’d forgotten how small they are.” He straightened. “They grow so quickly. In no time he’ll be as big as Llacheu and learning to be a warrior.”
Over my dead body.
I kept quiet. No need to start an argument about that now, but it was immediately borne in upon me why the rift had arisen between Eigr and Uthyr, when his mother had seen Arthur’s future in her scrying glass. Maybe I needed to ask her about Amhar’s future; I’d never heard stories about the deeds of any sons of King Arthur.
After a few more moments of rapt gazing, Arthur sat down on the end of our bed and pulled off his boots. The rest of his clothes followed, and I snuggled down into bed while he washed himself and brushed his teeth. In a few minutes, he climbed in beside me and moved close enough to take me in his arms, my back to him, his body curled around mine.
