She threw her saddlebags over Duchann Bhan's rump and turned to give her mother a kiss.
"Don't worry, we'll return. I see no difficulties for us."
"One cannot see everything," the queen said simply, a sheen of tears in her eyes.
"Give my love to Murchad."
"I will."
"And I will look after Crimthann for you."
Her mother chuckled, looking embarrassed and young with new love. Relieved, Yseult mounted her mare and turned to join the other riders. It was better to part with a laugh than a frown.
They rode all day through Laigin territory. Just before they reached the border to Midhe, where the territory of the Ui Neill began, they made camp well away from the road. After a few hours of sleep, they continued on their way to Tara, finishing their journey in the woods south of the Hill of Kings just before dawn.
Yseult wasn't sure how far away she could be for her call to reach another. If her first attempt didn't work, they would have to move closer to Tara, increasing the risk. Hiding her worry, she dismounted and tied Duchann Bhan's reins to a low branch of one of the trees. Gathering herself, she concentrated on an image of the wise man Patraic, sought his mind among the slowly waking inhabitants of Tara, and called him to their clearing.
After she had sent out her call, she, Brigid, Crimthann and Dubtach exchanged their riding breeches for white robes such as druids and Christians wore, pulled on their capes again, and made their way alone to one of the groves nearer the rath. It was not far from the other warriors, and all four were armed, short swords hidden beneath the folds of their tunics. But if they were caught, it would be imprisonment or even death for Crimthann, and little better than slavery across the sea for the rest of them.
Yseult breathed in the crisp, cold air, noting the drops of dew on the budding leaves and the way the morning sun glanced off the bronze of Crimthann's hair. Dangerous or not, she was glad to be here. Running and hiding were not for her.
When they reached the grove, Brigid used her power of changing to cloak them in illusion. Anyone they met would see a party of Christian pilgrims on their way north to the Hill of Slane to visit the site where the great Patraic had lit the holy fire of Easter. Brigid would do the talking; the illusion would work strongest for her since she was the one casting the spell. Yseult and Crimthann would assist the illusion by keeping their hoods up.
They had just spread out their blankets on the ground and begun to break their fast on bread and cheese when Patraic entered the grove, looking confused.
He nodded to them. "Good morning, pilgrims."
Brigid rose. "Master, we heard there is a Christian school founded by the wise man Patraic near Tara. Can you tell us if this is true or where we might find it?"
The bewilderment left Patraic's face to be replaced by gratification. "There is such a place. My disciple Ciaran is instructing those interested in Christian ways at a farm a little north of Rath na Riogh."
Yseult remembered Ciaran, his tears at Eithne's death and the gentle but resolute way he had about him. He would make a good teacher.
"Are you the great Patraic himself?" Brigid asked, her voice pitched low and her eyes wide.
Patraic gazed at her attractive face, lifted to his admiringly, and stood a little straighter. The illusion was working: he obviously did not recognize her. "We of the Christian faith do not aspire to such things as greatness," he admonished her gently, pleased nonetheless at her words. Yseult hid her smile in the hood of her cape. It appeared Roman-Bretain Christians were as easy to manipulate with flattery as Gaels.
"Will you also be teaching at the school?" Brigid asked.
"Occasionally perhaps, but I must devote most of my time to the High King."
"Does he intend to convert to the Christian faith?" she asked, adding just the right amount of surprise to the awe in her voice.
Patraic shook his head. "He says not, but I have hopes he may change his mind yet. I am consulting with him on a codification of Brehon law. With the number of Christians in Eriu growing, he wants to bring Christian and Brehon law in accordance with each other."
So it was true. Brehon law was to be Christianized.
"How will you do that?" the ban file asked.
"I don't yet know," Patraic said. "The druids of Tara insist that only the Brehon have the right to make the law."
Brigid nodded. "True."
Patraic glanced at her sharply. "Do you agree?"
She shrugged. "I grew up with a druid. Did you not also, Master?"
"Yes."
"Then you must recognize that the druids of Tara speak truth as they know it."
The Christian wise man nodded thoughtfully.
"Law cannot be decreed from without," Brigid continued. "It must be changed from within."
"Wise words, daughter," Patraic said, staring at her, his eyes bright. She gazed back steadily, and he looked away with a start. "Your journey is nearly at an end, my pilgrims. The school of Ciaran is less than two hours' walk from here. Go with God." He nodded to them almost curtly and hurried out of the grove.
Crimthann was the first to speak. "We should have killed him, here."
Brigid shook her head. "The church of Rome would only send another. And you would have made him a martyr to his religion."
Yseult got up from the woven blanket where they had been breaking their fast and brushed the crumbs of bread from her robe. "What are we to do?"
"Follow the plan we discussed in Druim Dara," Brigid said simply.
Part of her wished things were as easy as Crimthann seemed to think, but she knew Brigid was right: a war of ideas could not be won with murder. "Tonight I will send him a dream of a druid advisor to teach him something of Brehon law."
Brigid nodded, smiling. "Yes. The wise man Patraic understands the importance of appealing to people in a way they understand."
Yseult thought of the fire he had lit before Beltaine a year ago. "The magic of words, the power of fire."
Dubtach spoke up. "Tomorrow I will go to Tara as an answer to the dream. Can you do without my services for a time, ban file?"
Brigid smiled. "But you will be in my service, Dubtach."
"And what of Lóegaire?" Crimthann asked, his normally generous mouth little more than a thin line. It was obvious that his preferred course of action would be to burn Tara to the ground. His foster-father Dunlaing had attempted the feat but only gotten as far as the sloping trenches and thirty princesses and their attendants.
Then suddenly Yseult was there. Screams and flames, violating the purity of the dark sky. The wood and wattle of the round-houses crackled and spit, as young women ran out into the night, their clothes and hair burning, their shrieks of pain tearing the quiet of the night to shreds. Throwing themselves to the ground, they tried to douse the flames by rolling on the cold ground, thin balls of writhing fire. Yseult closed her eyes and clenched her fists at her sides.
"Yseult?" Brigid asked, touching her arm. "Is all well?"
Slowly, she returned to the filtered light of an early spring morning in a grove of birch trees, the faint chatter of birds replacing the roar of the flames. She looked briefly at Crimthann and then away. "I'm fine."
"What dreams will you send Lóegaire?" Brigid reminded her gently.
Yseult took a deep breath. A memory of calloused hands and a ready laugh came to her, a memory she had repressed for many, many years. And a more recent memory, of a harp played on Brangwyn's wedding day.
Her father.
"I will send him a dream of appeasing the other powers of Eriu, the powers of the south as well as the north; a dream of the wisdom of having a Christian king on the council. I will send him a dream of Aengus."
"Very wise. Although Aengus has converted to the religion of the Christ, he still respects the old ways. He will bring tolerance to the council."
"Do you think it will help?"
Brigid shrugged. "I do not know, I can only hope. But I do know that there is more than one wise Ys
eult in the land of Eriu."
It was great praise from the ban file. And Yseult knew that at least one of her childhood dreams was being fulfilled.
* * * *
The next day, they rode straight through to Dun Ailinne, arriving late in the evening, tired, sweaty and cold. The spring was not yet as warm as the sunshine made it appear.
Dun Ailinne, greatest of the seats of the Laigin kings, was large and well-defended, situated on a high hill and surrounded by imposing earthworks. They circled around to the entrance gate on the eastern side, grateful at the thought of a warm fire. Yseult was so tired she had trouble concentrating on her surroundings. After passing through the earthworks, they found themselves on a causeway across a wide ditch which in turn became an inner roadway leading up the hill. There were very few buildings within the ramparts; at Dun Ailinne, the artisans who enjoyed the patronage of the king, the farmers and the traders and the servants, all lived outside the fortifications. The rath served only as a refuge when danger arose, not even the warriors themselves residing within the walls. Round-houses clustered outside the ramparts, in advantageous spots near water or trees or road, sometimes fortified themselves by daub and wattle walls.
Yseult's mother had been put up in one of the few houses within the ramparts and was now standing between the wide double doors below the slanting thatched roof, a smile spreading across her face which Yseult suspected wasn't only for her. She glanced at Crimthann and saw an answering smile on his face; a smile that made even Yseult's throat dry, although it was directed at her mother. Well, Imbolc had come and gone, and now it was Spring. Mother had no eyes for daughter, and son no eyes for father. Yseult glanced at Enna Cennsalach to find him gazing at her with a knowing smile. Yseult shrugged and smiled back.
And then her gaze found Brangwyn beside Aidenn and Murchad. Brangwyn rushed forward, smiling, her father close behind. Murchad took Yseult's waist in his big hands and swung her down from her mare as if she were a doll of thatch, although she was now as tall as any of the Feadh Ree. Brangwyn hugged her tight and pushed her back at arms' length.
"Do you realize this is the longest we have been apart since you first came north with your mother when you were seven and I was nine?"
Yseult nodded and laughed. Over her cousin's shoulder, she saw the way Crimthann headed straight for Yseult the Wise, taking her hands and going to one knee respectfully.
Mother had no eyes for daughter, and son no eyes for father. It was Spring. Yseult smiled and asked Brangwyn and Murchad about life in Dun Ailinne.
* * * *
Queen Yseult sought Crimthann out the next day to thank him in private for bringing her daughter back safely. She had been happier to see him again than was wise, to see his wide smile and intense blue eyes. But it was so sweet to feel this rush of excitement, this exhilarating combination of fear and anticipation. She had felt it with Aengus, but not with Lóegaire. Their relationship had been pleasant enough at first, but for her, infatuation had never played a role.
She found the prince at the house of druids, in consultation with Laidcenn.
"Lady," Crimthann said. "Well met. I would have sought you out later today. I have something to broach to you."
The queen repressed the impulse to exclaim, "You do?" and inclined her head in acknowledgment.
"We will discuss the details later," Crimthann said to Laidcenn and turned to her, taking her elbow and leading her out of the round-house.
When they were no longer within hearing of the house of druids, the prince spoke. "I would have waited, even impatient as I am, would have courted you as you deserve, but my father has forced my hand."
Even Yseult the Wise could not come up with a clever answer for Crimthann's sudden directness. "What do you mean?"
"A subject king of my father's has died, leaving no one in the kinship group old enough to rule at Ard Ladrann. He has asked me to take over the rath until the eligible youths have proved themselves in battle and a vote can be taken."
The queen glanced at him, her heart wrenching. "Then you will be leaving Dun Ailinne."
"I could not stay here forever." He stopped and released her elbow, stepping in front of her, his blue eyes locking with hers. "Will you come with me?"
He was asking her as a man asks a woman, not as a young king asks the kingmaker; not as she had been asked before.
"Are you also making a claim on the sovereignty of Eriu?" she asked with a wan smile.
She caught a feeling of frustration and powerlessness from him, and that in turn gave her irrational hope.
"You will always be more than a desirable woman, as you know," he said, gripping his hands behind his back. "And I am an ambitious man. I cannot deny that."
A mirthless chuckle escaped her. "'Always' is too long. According to the Christian fili, I am no more than a woman without a choice."
"You will always be more than that to most of us. To me."
"Best make no promises, Crimthann. You too may one day find it more practical to adopt the religion of the Christ."
"Not with one of their wise men locked up in my father's seat at Rath Bile," he said with a laugh. He took her hand, and the blue of his eyes grew brighter. "Now I would rather woo the land."
His voice was low and intense. Queen Yseult drew in a quick breath; she definitely saw more in his thoughts than kingship.
"Do you think to persuade me to spend the required three nights with you?" she asked, showing a flirtatiousness she didn't know she possessed — or had long ago forgotten.
He raised her hand to his lips deliberately, turned it over, and placed a kiss on her palm, his tongue briefly touching her skin, right there in plain view of the residents of Dun Ailinne. "If you spend three nights with me, Lady," he said, his voice low and intimate, "I swear by all the gods of my tribe that you will gladly spend more."
Queen Yseult willed her heartbeat to slow but with little success. No, here was no niggardliness, she thought, more than satisfied.
"I will accompany you."
* * * *
Yseult was not going to run again. She watched her mother's party depart south for Ard Ladrann, her uncle Murchad's arm tight around her shoulders, and brushed a vagrant tear out of the corner of her eye. A morning breeze ruffled the white-blond hair at her temples, but the sun on her cheeks was warm. She watched until the party disappeared behind a stand of trees next to the road and turned back with Murchad to the ramparts of Dun Ailinne and the battles to be fought against the Ui Neill to the north and the kings of Venedotia and Dumnonia across the sea.
As the following months became a year and then more than a year, she followed her uncle rather than her mother. Together they defended the settlements of the Tuatha Dé Danann and furthered the interests of the Laigin, who offered their people refuge from the tribes of the north. But despite their efforts, more and more of the Feadh Ree retreated into the Sidhe, disappearing like spirits into the Otherworld.
Including Nemain. Murchad never mentioned her, but Yseult knew he thought of her when his gaze went beyond the walls of the rath and the smile left his eyes. She never said anything. She did no more than lay a hand on his shoulder or bring him a mug of fresh mead or a goblet of cider.
That year was not an easy one, but for Yseult at least it was better than the year before, better than fleeing Lóegaire and taking refuge at the sacred site of Druim Dara. Now she accompanied the warbands of Enna Cennsalach on raids and skirmishes, riding beside Murchad, tending to the injured, and sometimes even fighting herself. When her uncle went raiding across the seas, she accompanied the sons of Dunlaing, Illann and Ailbe, or Crimthann's brothers Eochu or Faelan, or even Enna Cennsalach himself.
Her reputation grew until Yseult could not recognize herself in the stories told of her. She was still more healer than warrior, but she was one of the few women who dressed in boiled leather and wielded a spear on the back of her mount. In the tales, however, she led the war bands into battle, tall in the saddle of her white mare, her
white blond hair wild around her face, her white shield warding off all blows, Yseult the Fair, invincible and feared, the beauty and the pride of Eriu. Yseult laughed and shook her head when the songs were sung, but she would not have been a daughter of her homeland if she had not been pleased.
And most of the royal sons of the Laigin had begun to court her. Yseult smiled when they claimed they wanted her for her fearlessness in battle and her wisdom in helping save Brehon law, laughed when they sang of her braid the color of the moon and her eyes the color of a winter lake. Now she understood what it meant to be the daughter of the kingmaker. She was already sixteen, and she liked Illann and Ailbe, Eochu and Faelan, liked all of them well enough, but there was no one she cared to share a house with, no one she cared to leave her uncle for.
The demands of being the champion of Dun Ailinne often made it necessary for Murchad to leave her, however. He never took her on the raids against their Bretain enemies, saying they were too dangerous, and at some point she learned to stop begging to go along.
This time, the trip would not be a raid; instead, he would be traveling to Dumnonia to return Bretain hostages the Laigin had captured from Lóegaire and demand hostages of their own in return. Enna Cennsalach wanted the kings on the other side of the waters to see with their own eyes that Lóegaire was no longer undisputed High King of Eriu.
"Have a good journey, Uncle," she said, going up on tip-toe to kiss his cheek — while he leaned down. He was the only man she knew who was so tall that she had to do that, and she smiled.
Murchad put both arms around her shoulders and hugged her tight. "And you take care of the warriors of Dun Ailinne."
Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur Page 8