Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles)

by Ruth Nestvold

  "Yseult —"

  "No, Cador," she interrupted him. "I believe it is my turn to say I do not want to hear any more." With that, she turned and left the hall.

  Cador watched her leave, wondering what he had done — and if he could or even wanted to undo it.

  * * * *

  The following morning after breaking his fast, Cador rode south in the direction of Voliba, but the port town was not his destination. He dismounted next to the standing stone and stroked the bay mare's neck before releasing her reins. The sun was warm on his face, but a breeze came in from the sea, tempering the spring warmth of the day. To his left, Voliba was visible in the bay below, and beyond, the ocean stretched out, all the way to Drystan's other home, Armorica — where he had found death at his own father's hands.

  There had been little justice in his cousin's short life, but if nothing else, he'd had the love of Yseult.

  Cador approached the memorial stone and traced the first words with his fingers. Drustans hic iacet ...

  "I wonder what you would think of this mess, Drystan," he said to the cold stone. The sun was not yet strong enough to heat rock, although there would be days in summer when the stone would be warm to the touch.

  He settled down on the ground and leaned his head back against Drystan's memorial. "I don't know what I was thinking to marry Yseult. Or yes I do — I loved her, I always loved her. You must know that by now, wherever you are. But marrying her was a mistake. I'm just her husband, not her lover. I never was her lover, only her friend. I used to be happy enough with friendship, but now I'm not.

  "I can't compete with you, Drys, I know that. Or Gawain either, it seems, even though she claimed she wasn't in love with him. But you two had a love people sing about, a love from which legends are made."

  It never made us happy, though. If you work at it, you and Yseult could have a chance at happiness.

  Cador was silent for a moment, letting the words of his murdered cousin sink in. Was he dreaming Drystan's voice? He had come here, to this hill, on more than just a whim, needing to be close to the man Yseult had loved beyond the grave.

  Cador knew that there were things in this world that could not be explained either by the Roman philosophers or the Christian priests. He had learned to guard his thoughts so that Yseult could not read his every stray thought, had seen Brangwyn work her power of illusion on a whole company of men to deceive the enemy, had even seen Kustennin, untrained as he was, hide the men fighting beside him with the power of changing.

  But he still had not expected to hear that familiar voice again after all these years.

  Why not? There is something of my spirit yet left in the bones buried on this hill.

  "Yes, but Yseult said we laid your spirit to rest when we avenged you."

  The chuckle they had all loved so well reverberated in Cador's mind. What makes you think I am not at rest? Simply because you call to me for help and I come?

  "If you always came when those who love you called, you would be with Yseult all the time; you would never leave."

  For a moment there was no response, but Cador felt a sense of dismay creep up his chest and close his throat.

  That would be haunting, not helping, Drystan's voice finally came.

  Cador nodded slowly. "Yes, I see."

  Of course you do. You always were a smart lad. A pause. Do you realize you're older now than I am, Cador? The spirit inside of him laughed out loud, and Cador had to smile at the sheer exuberance of it.

  The exuberance of Drystan — more alive dead than Cador was living.

  No, I will not let that stand, Cador. You are alive, cousin, that is what matters. You are alive and you love her.

  "But she is pining after Gawain, after you. She will never love me."

  Not if you spend your time sitting on hills talking to spirits and feeling sorry for yourself. Besides, I'm not so sure she loves Gawain — perhaps it was just the surprise.

  Cador suspected Drystan knew perfectly well whether Yseult loved Gawain or not, and if he wasn't telling him, it surely meant the worst.

  No, it doesn't. Her feelings are confused, as you might imagine. I'm sorry to see you this way, Cousin; you never used to be so negative.

  "I know. I've lost my equilibrium."

  You can get it back, I know you can. You're strong. You've survived many losses in your life. And you have not yet lost Yseult, I'm sure of it.

  Cador rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger.

  She's worth fighting for, Cador. She is tough and stubborn and broken, but she has a spirit as big as any in Britain. And she doesn't look bad for her age either.

  Cador laughed out loud.

  There, that's much better. As much as I love you, you don't laugh enough.

  "Perhaps you're right."

  Of course I'm right. I'm dead.

  * * * *

  Cador awoke cold and cramped, his horse's warm muzzle nudging his cheek. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and ran a hand through his hair. To the west, the sun was already flirting with the horizon. Strange; he must have slept the entire day away.

  He got up and stretched, while the mare whickered softly by his side. Had he merely dreamed his conversation with Drystan? Cador was not a religious man, and he was not in the habit of praying or communing with spirits, but somehow he didn't doubt that his cousin had spoken to him.

  And Drystan had encouraged him to fight for Yseult's love.

  Cador swung himself up on his mare's back and set out for Lansyen at a canter.

  When he rode into the stable yard, a boy ran up to take the mare's reins. "Lord, we looked for you everywhere, but you were not to be found!"

  "What do you mean?" Cador asked, dismounting. "Has something happened?"

  "The Lady Yseult left for Dyn Tagell shortly after the midday meal. She wished to say farewell to you, but no one knew where you were."

  Cador grimaced. "Napping in the sun, I fear. I'm sorry I missed my lady wife." Of course everyone would regard it as odd that Yseult had departed with so little advance warning, but there was no need for him to contribute any more than necessary to the stories the good people of Lansyen and Voliba would be telling each other. And if he went riding wildly after her, he would.

  On the other hand — perhaps this was not a time for rational behavior. Drystan's words echoed in his mind: She's worth fighting for. He'd called her broken. It was not a word Cador normally would have associated with his wife, but when he thought about the passion and loss she had lived through, it made sense. Proud — and broken.

  Perhaps he should throw pragmatism to the wind and follow her to Dyn Tagell. But the sky was growing dark; he would consider his options again in the morning. Maybe it was for the best that she'd already left; they could gain some distance from each other and the harsh words that had fallen.

  Yes, he would follow her, but first he had to return to Lindinis and see to the planting. By that time, they would both have calmed down. Then when he faced her he would be less likely to say something he would regret, as he had yesterday.

  But two weeks later, a messenger arrived in Lindinis with a letter from his wife. She had left for Eriu — and she didn't know when she would be returning to Britain.

  Chapter 17

  A queen should never dream on summer nights,

  When hovering spells are heavy in the dusk —

  I think no night was ever quite so still,

  So smoothly lit with red along the west,

  So deeply hushed with quiet through and through.

  And strangely clear, and sharply dyed with light,

  The trees stood straight against a paling sky,

  With Venus burning lamp-like in the west.

  I walked alone among a thousand flowers,

  That drooped their heads and drowsed beneath the dew,

  And all my thoughts were quieted to sleep.

  Behind me, on the walk, I heard a step —

  I did not know my heart could tell his tread, />
  I did not know I loved him till that hour.

  Sara Teasdale, "Guenevere"

  If Yseult had been traveling without servants and baggage, she and her men at arms could have made it to Dyn Tagell before nightfall. But the mules pulling the cart with the clothing and other hurriedly packed belongings could rarely be goaded into anything faster than a walk. For tonight, they would seek hospitality at Celliwig and continue to Dyn Tagell on the morrow. After Cador told her he wished to return to Lindinis alone, Yseult decided to leave as soon as possible. How could she remain in Lansyen knowing he wanted her gone?

  They had ridden out of the hill-fort after the midday meal. Mild spring sunshine warmed her face, making a mockery of her mood. Yseult was much more miserable now than when she'd received news of Gawain's marriage. Not only was she hurt and angry; her head felt light and her throat and chest tight, and she had to keep taking deep breaths as if she were gasping for air after being too long under water. She was queasy too.

  She hated it. It was a weakness that made no sense, since Yseult did not indulge in weaknesses. Then why could she not seem to breathe evenly?

  She took another deep breath and rotated her head on her shoulders, trying to loosen some of the tension. She had sent a rider ahead to Celliwig, but as spontaneous as her departure had been, she didn't even know who might be there; this time of year Arthur and Ginevra had usually returned to Arthur's military basis in Caer Leon. At least she knew she wouldn't be turned away. As the Queen Regent of Dumnonia, Yseult still had the right of hospitality at the seat of the Dux Bellorum of Britain, as odd as that might seem.

  To her relief, she felt a smile pull up the corners of her lips.

  The journey was blessedly uneventful, but as they came in sight of Celliwig, Yseult found her breathing grow more difficult again. It was here that Arthur had suggested she and Cador marry, here that they had matter-of-factedly discussed the proposal — before she had pursued him to the coast and persuaded him it would be for the best.

  And now they were married, and she was running away. What had she been thinking? That friendship would be a good basis for marriage? That it could hardly go wrong, given how long she had known Cador?

  Obviously, she knew nothing about how to create a lasting relationship, despite all the songs of eternal love sung about her and Drystan — songs that made their son Kustennin want to hit things, she knew. She squared her shoulders.

  "Is something the matter, Lady?" Sevi called over from her mule cart.

  Yseult found herself smiling again. She doubted if her change in posture and expression had been enough to warrant Sevi's worry; perhaps it was time to begin training Sevi in the knowledge of the Old Ones, as she had already begun training Keyna in the knowledge of herbs?

  "No, nothing," Yseult said, shaking her head. "I was only wondering if Arthur and Ginevra will be in Celliwig."

  As they rode through the gatehouse of the hill-fort, she saw at least half of her question answered. Ginevra came out of the hall to meet them. "Yseult! It is good to see you. Your messenger arrived earlier this afternoon. What brings you to Celliwig so suddenly?"

  "I am on the way to Dyn Tagell." Yseult dismounted and embraced the Queen of Cerniw. "Since our departure was delayed until after the midday meal, I decided to stop at Celliwig and beg your hospitality for the night rather than putting the journey off for another day."

  Ginevra smiled. "You are always welcome, Yseult, you know that."

  "Thank you." Without delving into Ginevra's thoughts, Yseult knew the words were sincere. The younger woman was convinced she owed her life and that of her son Loholt to Yseult's assistance at the birth. When Yseult had arrived, Ginevra's pains had been going on for three days and she was a weak bundle of misery. Yseult had given her tea of parsley, thyme and raspberry leaves to help induce stronger contractions, and gotten her out of bed and walking to spur the onset of the final stage of labor. At first, Ginevra had complained and cursed, but after Loholt was born healthy and whole, she seemed to regard Yseult as a worker of miracles.

  The door of the hall opened again. "Look who is come!" Ginevra called, turning, a wide smile on her face. "Yseult."

  Yseult caught a feeling of embarrassed pleasure from Ginevra and saw a faint blush dust her pale cheeks — a reaction to the young man who now strode over to them.

  Ginevra's nephew-by-marriage, Medraut.

  What was he doing here? And where was Arthur? What did the feelings she had caught from Ginevra mean? A year ago, her frustrated affections had still been fixed on Cai — had that changed?

  Despite the emotional turmoil Yseult had fled from only hours before, she still had the presence of mind to keep her thoughts from her face.

  Medraut gave her the kiss of peace. "It is good to see you again, Yseult."

  She returned the greeting. "And you, Medraut."

  "Medraut stopped here on his way back from Armorica, where he spent the winter with his parents," Ginevra said, her words tumbling over each other. "He had to leave his son Melehan with his mother Anna; there is little room in a warrior's life for a motherless babe."

  Medraut nodded, much more self-possessed than his aunt. "I had been hoping to travel the rest of the way to Caer Leon with Arthur, but he had already left Celliwig."

  "Arthur returned to Caer Leon before the snows even melted," Ginevra added, a hint of resentment in her voice.

  "Is there trouble?" Yseult asked quickly.

  Ginevra shook her head. "No more than usual. But I had no desire to travel in those conditions. At least I was here to entertain Medraut for a few days." She flashed him another embarrassed smile, and he sketched a bow.

  "I am very grateful for the hospitality," he said.

  What was beneath this courtly surface? Yseult opened her mind. While Medraut's thoughts were a blank to her, Ginevra's offered a jumble of emotions, foremost of which was thrilled gratification at the compliments and attentions of a handsome young man so many years her junior. But at the same time, memories of tall, blond Cai loomed large in Ginevra's mind, warring with her new attraction to Medraut.

  Judging by Ginevra's memories and emotions, it looked suspiciously as if Medraut was paying court to his aunt. But what by all the gods for? Of course, there was always Ginevra's famed beauty — but Ginevra was the wife of his uncle. Not for the first time, Yseult wished Medraut had not learned to shield his thoughts so effectively.

  As she followed Ginevra into the hall, she realized that her own misunderstandings with Cador had faded very quickly into the background.

  * * * *

  At dinner that evening, Medraut's mind remained veiled, but after the mussels boiled in wine and before the hare stuffed with nuts and peppercorns, Yseult knew that while Ginevra had not yet consciously contemplated taking Medraut as a lover, there was little more than her own conviction that she was still in love with Cai to keep her from doing so.

  Yseult had long been irritated by the respectful disinterest with which Arthur treated Ginevra. Yes, theirs had been a political alliance, Arthur marrying a princess young enough to be his daughter to secure the allegiance of her father Gwythyr. But as much as Yseult respected Arthur, it had been a mistake on his part not to create a personal as well as a political alliance with his wife. It was clear to all who knew him that he continued to mourn the Rheged princess Gwenhwyfar, mother of his son Llacheu, now a prince in his own right in the north. Not only that, Arthur still maintained relations with his mistress Indeg, Anir's mother. It was even said that he often consulted her on military matters, something he never bothered to discuss with his wife. Ginevra might be naive, but even she had eventually learned how unimportant she was to her husband.

  And now, seeing the way the queen of Cerniw leaned across the table over the dessert of cheese and dried fruit towards Arthur's unpredictable nephew — eyes glowing, a blush on her cheeks that made her look ten years younger — Yseult wished more than ever that Arthur could have devoted at least some effort to securing the
affections of his own wife. He showed diplomatic skills with recalcitrant British kings and sub-kings. How could he have ignored the need to gain the loyalty of the woman he had married — also a political alliance?

  Ginevra turned to her with an over-bright smile. "I hope the dinner was to your liking?"

  Yseult nodded. "It was excellent. Do you dine this way every day?"

  The younger woman laughed, waving the compliment away. "Of course not. But we already had a guest when you arrived, as you see."

  Yseult and Medraut dipped their heads to each other politely, acknowledging Ginevra's words. His behavior at dinner had been exemplary, but through Ginevra's memories, Yseult had seen the way he had been paying court to his aunt in the evenings before.

  For some reason, Medraut wanted to seduce his uncle's wife.

  She didn't want to know about this, not now, not when she had problems enough of her own. Besides, what was she to do about it? She had no facts such as the British preferred, a legacy of their many years under Roman rule. All she had were the stolen thoughts of a neglected wife. While many people in Britain respected Yseult's powers, just as many regarded them with fear or denied they existed. In Eriu, as one of the Old Race and daughter of the Kingmaker, her words would be heard. Yseult might no longer want that kind of unquestioned power, but at the same time, she could not help being frustrated that her knowledge was of little use.

  As she nibbled on a dried apple, she found herself wanting to tell Cador about what she had discovered, ask him his advice. He would take her concerns seriously, since he knew her powers and discussed political matters with her as an equal. But her husband had sent her away; he wanted to live without her for a time. She would not be discussing implications personal or political with Cador anytime soon.

  "Must you really continue on to Dyn Tagell tomorrow, Yseult?" Ginevra asked. "It's so pleasant having you here!"

  "That's very kind of you, but I know you will soon be joining Arthur in Caer Leon, and I do not want to be underfoot when you are packing for your journey."