Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur

by Nestvold, Ruth

  I will pray to all the gods of my tribe that you are right and the Saxons will not attack again before spring.

  But the next time there is a battle, you must notify us of your welfare sooner.

  Your Brangwyn

  Kurvenal to Brangwyn, greetings.

  I know I should not, but I am glad you were worried about me. Glad. Please forgive me for such selfish thoughts. I will not go into my reasons, because you have forbidden me to do so, but given your last missive, I suspect you understand.

  We must remove to Caer Leon without our Master of Horse. But in order to continue training the new recruits, we need the stables at our disposal, even without Cai. He is recovering, but he cannot yet walk, and he will receive better care in Corinium in Modrun's hands.

  I wish we would be going south to Lansyen rather than west to Caer Leon for the Christmas holidays, but unfortunately these violent times do not leave us that option. Arthur is afraid that any time the weather turns, the Saxons will stop licking their wounds and attack again.

  But if they do, I swear I will send you word as soon as I am able.

  Your Kurvenal

  Brangwyn to Kurvenal, greetings.

  Despite snow, cold fog, and mist, it has been pleasant and peaceful here in Lansyen, and we would have enjoyed the presence of you and Drystan. The people of Lansyen and Voliba regard Yseult as their own, and Kustennin, the "young prince," is a favorite with all.

  It looks to be a hard winter, though, and we will need all our stores of herbs to fight the sicknesses arising. We have been taking Ginevra along on our rounds and are trying to teach her what we can of the herbal lore of Eriu. She is intelligent and a great help to us.

  If you have the ear of the Dux Bellorum, you might want to remind him that he was courting a young woman in our care before the Saxons decided to break the treaty of Venta and march against the Bretain again. Ginevra is young and does not yet understand that war will always take precedence over love in men's hearts.

  Your Brangwyn

  Kurvenal to Brangwyn, greetings.

  No, I will not let that pass. War has no precedence over love "in men's hearts" as you say: when war must be fought and one's people and homeland defended, we take the memory and knowledge of love with us, but we must leave love itself behind.

  Are not the women of Eriu trained to defend their hill-forts just as the men are? If Lansyen were attacked and you were there, would you be content to withdraw behind the walls and think of the husband you lost, the love you no longer have? Perhaps I sorely misjudge you, but I think not. You would not enjoy taking up sword and shield, but take them up you would. Do you think I enjoy it, the mud and pain and smell of blood? Yes, there is a strange frenzy in the midst of a battle, a perverse thrill, a kind of intoxication. I suspect you may even know it.

  But few soldiers seek it as they do wine.

  The new year brings nothing but cold. Can you not exhort all those gods you swear by to allow the river to thaw? Although I should perhaps be grateful — if we suffer from the cold here in Caer Leon, where the buildings stand and even some of the hypocausts still function, how much more the Saxons must be suffering in Abona, which they nearly burned to the ground before we pushed them back to a town they thought of no interest.

  Your Kurvenal

  Brangwyn to Kurvenal, greetings.

  You are right, of course. In making the comments I did about "men," I was attempting to maintain a distance to you which you are much too good at destroying, in so many ways. Do not ask me to admit more — and do not expect that anything I do admit can give you hope.

  Spring is slow in coming this year. Many of the lambs born at Imbolc (for you, the Kalends of February) were either sickly or weak. Our only comfort is that a hard winter means it will be that much longer before it is once again time for warm weather and war and death.

  Stay well.

  Your Brangwyn

  * * * *

  Drystan joined Arthur on the ramparts of the hill-fort of Caer Baddon as the sun was setting. After the snows had finally melted and the roads became passable again, Arthur had led a much stronger army south than that which had put the Saxons to flight in September. Drystan knew he still was far from confident that they could do so again, and the news Drystan brought probably would not help.

  Arthur scanned the horizon to the west, his hands locked behind his back. Somewhere between here and the Sabrina estuary, the Saxons were moving inland, towards the rich prize of Aquae Sulis.

  "A messenger has arrived from the south," Drystan said.

  "Is it good news or bad?" Arthur asked without turning.

  "Hard to say. Cerdic is on the road from Venta with a force of possibly a thousand men."

  "Did Cerdic send the news?"

  "No. We have it from scouts on the road to Cunetio."

  Together they stood in the final rays of the late April sun, the city of Aquae Sulis spread out below them, nestled in a bend of the Abona River. Drystan knew with the training of a soldier that Arthur was not contemplating the idyllic location; what concerned him was the large number of buildings outside the thick Roman walls. The spa town of Aquae Sulis had been one of the most popular places to retire in the province of Britannia when the Romans had still upheld the legions here, and it had outgrown its borders. The surrounding countryside contained a wealth of villas. Those closest to the sea had long since been abandoned out of fear of Erainn raiders, but many farther inland were thriving agricultural estates.

  If the Saxons could take a town such as this, they would have a rich base for further conquests in the heart of British territory.

  "What think you, Cousin?" Arthur finally asked.

  Drystan sighed. "I think it odd that Cerdic sent no word of reinforcements. And if he truly is leading close to a thousand men, why is it he has no fear of the Saxons attacking in the south?"

  "Because he is married to one?" Arthur speculated.

  "There is that."

  "What of our scouts to the west?"

  "No word yet from Abona." As soon as the weather had allowed, Drystan and Aircol had sailed from Caer Leon and attempted to attack the Saxon survivors of the battle for Glevum from the sea, but their enemy had anticipated the move and taken to the hills.

  That was when Arthur gave the order to move south, quickly.

  Arthur turned away from the brilliant colors of the setting sun to the sea of tents within the ramparts on the flat top of the hill-fort. The local king, Pasgen, rarely used the fort, preferring the amenities of the town below, but at least the defenses had been maintained.

  Arthur crossed his arms in front of his chest. "We must watch the northern coast as well."

  "You think Octha and Aesc will get reinforcements from Ceint?"

  "They almost destroyed our army last year. It makes sense to use everything they have to finish what they started. The only thing I am sure of is that they have not given up yet."

  Drystan wished he did not have to agree with the Dux Bellorum, but his instincts told him that the battle between the Sabrina and the Tribruit was nothing compared to the fighting they would see this summer.

  As dusk descended, the fires between the tents grew brighter. The sounds coming from the camp were light-hearted, voices soft and loud, laughter, an occasional thread of song; not like the nervous near-silence of a camp on the eve of battle. They did not even know exactly where their enemy was.

  "Come, let us find Bedwyr and Cai," Arthur said.

  Arthur's most important generals were playing a game of dice in front of the large tent which served as headquarters for the camp. Bedwyr caught the dice up in his hand as they approached and rose, followed by Cai. Silently, they all followed Arthur into the tent.

  Arthur poured a glass of wine for each of them. "We need to learn more about the army Cerdic is leading north."

  Cai took the glass Arthur offered, nodding. "I will send more scouts out with specific instructions."

  "They should try to get close enoug
h to discover what languages the soldiers speak around the campfire at night," Drystan suggested.

  "At least Pasgen is no longer playing coy," Bedwyr said.

  Arthur took a sip of his wine, an uncharacteristic smile playing around his lips. "Yes, he has suddenly become a great partisan of British unity."

  "Should we try to flush the Saxons out of hiding?" Cai asked.

  Arthur put his glass down and began to pace. "That is what I would want to do, but I'm afraid they may intend to draw us out, catch us where our position is not as strong. We are lucky Pasgen has maintained the defensive earthworks in these hills."

  "With Cerdic an unknown quantity, we can't risk leaving Aquae Sulis unprotected," Drystan added.

  Bedwyr's sardonic smile turned up his lips. "Oh, it will not be unprotected: Pasgen will see to that."

  "But it will not be protected enough," Arthur said. "He has a force of five centuries at his disposal — large by the standards of many regional kings, but not enough to defend all the roads leading to Aquae Sulis."

  He stopped pacing, and by the look in his eyes it was obvious he had reached a decision. "We will send a cavalry troop of no more than a century into the hills south of the Abona with express orders to flee if they are attacked. The Saxons will wait to move until reinforcements have arrived, so we also need to increase the watch along the Sabrina Estuary. Bedwyr, you see to it that the beacons and signal stations of the Downs and the local hill-forts are checked. Drystan, I want you to have word sent to Gwythyr, Natanleod, and Oneon on our eastern front, see if they can spare any troops from the defense of the border to Ceint."

  "And until we receive word?" Drystan asked.

  Arthur finished off the wine in his glass and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "We wait."

  * * * *

  Luckily, the waiting was a busy waiting. Once the first cavalry unit found signs of the Saxons in the hills south of the Abona River, Arthur's troops harried their ranks whenever they could find them. Lookouts were established on the northern coast, the longboats of the Saxons destroyed, and an extra century of cavalry commanded to the town of Trajectus between Aquae Sulis and the deserted port of Abona. Scouts were coming and going constantly, and Arthur and Pasgen met every day, working out the distribution of fighting men on the hill-forts overlooking the Abona River and the major roads.

  While preparations progressed satisfactorily, not all the news was good. Two of the scouts sent to spy on the forces Cerdic was leading north never returned, and the others could only report that the army had disappeared from the Cunetio road as if a thousand men had never existed.

  Once again, Arthur paced the confines of his tent within the ramparts of Caer Baddon. "There's no other explanation," the Dux Bellorum said. "Cerdic has turned traitor and gone over to the Saxons."

  Drystan and the other men standing at attention said nothing. It was obvious to all that Arthur was right.

  "We will have to assume Aquae Sulis is to be attacked both from the east and the west," Arthur continued. "We have troops guarding the roads in all directions, but if the Saxons receive reinforcements before they attack, as I suspect they will, ..." His sentence trailed off, but none of them needed elaboration.

  "Why are you so sure they will wait for reinforcements?" Cai asked. His convalescence had been long, and he now walked with a limp, but he was as tall and broad and goldenly impressive as he had ever been.

  Arthur stopped pacing and stood in front of them, counting his reasons off on his long, broad fingers. "One, they were not prepared to winter in Abona, which means they have been foraging and living off the supplies they took from the villas they raided last autumn. Two, they know we are in a good position here, the town fortified, and the surrounding hills giving us a defensive advantage. Three, if they had felt strong enough after the battle of Glevum, they would have attacked last fall, despite the heavy rains. A number of those who escaped the battlefield were most likely seriously injured, and by the time they felt well enough to make the journey all the way to Ceint, the weather was too uncertain for their longboats."

  Bedwyr nodded. "The Saxons will send as many men as they can to try to crush Arthur the Bear."

  Arthur crossed his arms in front of his chest across his purple surcoat. "But we cannot afford to pull too many troops from our eastern front, as much as I would want to. Cerdic is somewhere between Aquae Sulis and Calleva, and his army would most likely fall on any reinforcements that came via the Cunetio road."

  They were all silent a moment, contemplating the seriousness of the situation. Drystan noted the creeping gray at Arthur's temples and the lines on his forehead which seemed to get deeper with each battle.

  A signal trumpet sounded outside in the camp, and they all looked at each other. Was it good news or bad?

  Arthur gave a curt nod, and they left the tent as quickly as they could.

  A lookout was already hurrying to Arthur's tent when they emerged. "A large troop on its way from the south —reinforcements, Dux!"

  "From where?" Arthur asked.

  "They are on the Roman road from Lindinis and carry the banner of the Durotriges."

  Drystan felt a smile break out over his face. "Cador!"

  Arthur wore an answering smile. "Indeed. Perhaps we should lead the welcoming committee for our cousin?"

  Although it had only been a little over nine months since Drystan had last seen Cador, his younger cousin had changed. Any boyishness that had still clung to his features last summer was gone, and a day's growth of beard darkened his fair face. He led a unit of over one hundred horse, as far as Drystan could judge — both mounts and men much needed.

  When Cador dismounted within the earthwork ramparts of the hill-fort, Arthur took him in a quick, tight embrace and then pushed him back to arm's length, smiling. "Well met, Cousin. I don't have the words to tell you how welcome you are in Caer Baddon."

  Cador grinned, and Drystan caught traces of the boy in his expression. "Oh, I think I can imagine."

  Drystan came forward. "Cador. It is good to see you again."

  "And you, Drys." They embraced.

  "How are your mother and sister?" he asked when they released each other again.

  Cador gave his mount into the care of a soldier and then turned back to Drystan. "Well. They asked me to send greetings."

  "Any news of the campaign in the east?" Arthur asked.

  Cador sighed. "Last fall, we were barely able to hold the Saxons back until the rains came. But Oneon and Gwythyr began to receive reinforcements from a number of neighboring kings even before the weather changed. There were enough that I was able to return to Dyn Draithou for Christmas."

  Bedwyr joined them, taking Arthur by the elbow. "The new arrivals need refreshment, my friend. Perhaps we can continue the discussion of war after they have had something to drink and eat and washed off the grime of the road."

  Arthur gave a wry grin. "Yes, of course."

  The gathering broke up, and Drystan returned to the tent he shared with Kurvenal. His friend was seated on a stump, a wax tablet on his knee, working out the wording of a letter to Brangwyn, if Drystan was any judge.

  Kurvenal looked up as he approached. "Good news, I take it?"

  Drystan nodded. "Cador has arrived with cavalry reinforcements."

  "Good." Kurvenal's smile was distracted, and he immediately bent over his tablet again.

  Drystan ducked into the tent and looked around at the meager belongings of a soldier's life. Should he also write Yseult? But what was he to say? He could tell her of Cador's arrival, could tell her of the waiting, could ask for news of his "brother." But he could not tell her of what was in his heart, as Kurvenal could tell Brangwyn, could not describe to her how he thought of her every night while lying on his pallet, his fingers laced behind his head as he stared at the inside of the tent, listening to the sounds of the camp die away; could not tell her how he imagined, over and over, a future that didn't exist where the two of them could be happy together.
<
br />   He sighed and took up his own writing tablet.

  * * * *

  Three days later, longboats were sighted in the Sabrina Estuary, heading for the mouth of the Abona River.

  Arthur sent 150 mounted warriors to make the Saxon landing difficult and harry their ranks from a safe distance, but he did not want to split up the forces amassed on the hills surrounding Aquae Sulis more than necessary — especially now that they were sure Cerdic led an enemy army. Given their disadvantage in numbers, they could not give up their advantage in position.

  Arthur was determined to choose the battleground this time. A small cavalry troop was sent east to try once again to determine the whereabouts of Cerdic's army. They would be as prepared as they could be.

  Cador had taken up residence in Drystan and Kurvenal's tent: the kings of the Durotriges had sent men and mounts, but did not have tents enough for such a large-scale campaign. Arthur had Owain move the Ergyng forces his father Madoc had spared from the defense of Corinium to Banner Hill to the east, north of the Roman road to Cunetio. Pasgen guarded the western entrance to Aquae Sulis, and Manawyd, the hero of Tribruit, held the hills south of Aquae Sulis. Lot's sons Gawain and Gaheris held the hills directly south of Caer Baddon and east of Aquae Sulis, on the opposite side of the Abona River.

  While they waited for the enemy to advance, their duties consisted of participating in regular scouting and raiding parties, acting as lookout for signal fires, patrolling the perimeters of the hill-fort, and, always, practicing their fighting skills: running up and down the steep slopes of Caer Baddon, charging and retreating with their mounts on the hillside, practicing their skills with sword and spear and bow and arrow. Some troops specialized more in one discipline than another, but Arthur insisted that all his men be prepared to fight in any kind of battle situation. An archer could run out of arrows and be forced to draw the sword at his hip; a member of the cavalry could have his mount killed beneath him and be forced to fight on foot.