"True," Ginevra said regretfully. The regret was sincere, but at the same time Yseult caught a hint of relief. "Medraut has offered to remain here until we travel north, so that he and his men can provide additional protection to our party."
"Excellent idea." Yseult only hoped Medraut did not intend to abduct Ginevra rather than protect her; she was Queen of Cerniw in her own right, after all.
But that would bury any chances he still had to increase his influence with the Dux Bellorum, and from everything Yseult had seen and heard, that was still Medraut's chief ambition — to be named Arthur's heir. Dux Bellorum was not originally an inherited position, but many of the present kings of Britain derived their "kingdoms" from administrative positions held by their grandfathers and great-grandfathers during the time of the Romans. Who was to say that Dux could not also become an inherited rank? She found herself framing the question to Cador, looking forward to his thoughtful response.
But no — she was running away, avoiding any further conflicts with him for the time being. Which meant the end of their stimulating political discussions as well.
* * * *
Yseult was glad to leave the next morning. Perhaps she should have remained and kept an eye on Ginevra, but while Medraut's flirtation with his aunt had the potential for wide-reaching political consequences, it was also personal, and at the moment Yseult had no interest in getting involved. It might yet come to nothing.
As she and her party traveled the road north, a thick fog bank rolled in from the ocean, bringing with it dismal shifting grayness, much more in keeping with her mood than the sun of the day before. She was leaving Cador farther and farther behind. But he had told her he wanted to be alone — what else could she have done? The best thing for it was to go along with his wishes. Perhaps with time he would find he missed her and ask her to return. She was already missing him.
When they finally caught sight of Dyn Tagell, the relief Yseult felt was a physical thing. Brangwyn was there, her cousin and best friend, the one woman whom she could tell what happened.
Cador had once been her friend too; now he was her husband.
Even before they reached the gatehouse of the mainland fortress, servants and slaves came running forward to help them dismount and take their mounts and mules to the stable yard.
"Lady Yseult!" a young stable hand said as he took the reins of her gelding. "Welcome back to Dyn Tagell. We had not expected to see you so soon."
"It was a sudden decision."
He smiled. "We are glad to have you."
Yseult hoped Brangwyn and Kurvenal would feel the same way. Yseult's relationship with Kurvenal was problematic at best.
By the time the servants had unloaded their belongings from the cart, Brangwyn was already entering the mainland courtyard, a wide smile on her face. "Yseult! It's good to see you."
They embraced and gave each other the kiss of peace. "It is good to see you too, Brangwyn. I've missed you."
Brangwyn laughed. "And I you. Things are sadly quiet here during the winter months. What brings you so unexpectedly to Dyn Tagell?"
Yseult hooked her arm through Brangwyn's and together they walked towards the land bridge — and out of hearing distance of anyone else. "Cador said he wanted to be alone," she murmured and told Brangwyn how she had come to leave Lansyen.
"I should not have written," Brangwyn said when she was done.
The guards stepped aside as they approached; there was barely enough room for two on the narrow isthmus of rock leading to the promontory. Yseult gazed down at the gray-blue water of the harbor below — the place where she had first set foot in Britain, almost twenty years ago now. She had spent more of her life here than in Eriu, her home.
She shook her head. "I would have found out soon enough. What if it hadn't been until our next visit to Caer Leon or Glevum? Meeting Gawain with his new wife on his arm?"
"That was my thinking when I sent the letter." Brangwyn was silent for a moment. "Does it really bother you so much, Yseult?"
Yseult didn't answer right away, sorting out her own feelings. "I don't think so. But it took me by surprise. And Cador noticed."
Instead of heading straight to the lower hall, they walked together to the far edge of the near-island and the sheer cliffs that fell away to the churning sea. Mist curled up the sides of the Rock, and damp air clung to the tendrils of hair escaping from Yseult's thick braid. As they neared the highest point of Dyn Tagell, the wind became stronger, whipping their skirts around their legs.
Yseult pulled the stray strands of hair away from her forehead and gazed out at the ocean, known as the Erainn Sea here in Britain. Past the unquiet waters below, to the west and north, lay her former home, the island of Eriu, the land that had never felt the influence of the Romans — until now, and the coming of the religion of Christ.
Suddenly Yseult wanted to go home. It had only been two years since she had last visited, but nothing was keeping her here in Britain now. Kustennin had reached the age of choice and was King of Dumnonia in more than just name. And Cador had sent her away.
They stopped at the edge of the cliff. "So, were you fooling yourself all these years? Do you love Gawain?" Brangwyn asked, giving Yseult a sharp look.
Yseult pulled her cape tighter. Trust her cousin the ask the difficult questions. "Love? No. But it was strange how much it hurt when I read of his marriage."
"Ah, Yseult. Why did you marry Cador if you felt this way for Gawain?"
"I don't know what 'this way' is, Brangwyn! Yes, it hurt, but it also hurt when Cador told me he didn't want to hear my explanations, when he told me he wanted to be alone."
"And you, my dear cousin, do not need to be told anything twice."
"No, I do not."
Brangwyn gazed at her as if she were a riddle she had almost solved. "You know, it's odd, and forgive me for saying this, but I think you understand very little about love, Yseult. Love is not always like what you had with Drystan — rarely is even, praise the gods. Perhaps you love both Gawain and Cador, in different ways, but were unable to recognize it. The question is, who do you love more?"
The idea that she might love either of them, let alone both, was too new for Yseult to make any sense of it. Love Cador? They had gotten off to a bad start, with Cador lying to her about Cwylli and Yseult overreacting, but they had slowly been negotiating their way to a good life together, comfortable and undemanding, when the news of Gawain's marriage arrived — and the next conflict. But love?
"Let me put it another way," Brangwyn asked. "Who do you most miss now?"
The answer was surprisingly easy. "Cador."
She felt her cousin's impatience even before she heard it in her voice. "Then why have you not spoken to each other for a week?"
Yseult turned away, anger flaring. "Because Cador would not speak to me — and then when he finally deigned to again, he told me not to say anything."
"And you think he meant it?"
"Of course not! The next day, he accused me of not speaking with him. After which he told me to leave." To Yseult's surprise, she heard her voice break on the last word.
To her relief, Brangwyn ignored the sign of weakness. "And so you did."
"I have my pride."
"There is no doubt of that."
Yseult could feel the affectionate impatience in the words, and she turned back to her cousin. "And you? Would you stay if told to leave in such a fashion?"
She had thought the question rhetorical, but Brangwyn merely shrugged. "Perhaps. If the man who told me to leave meant enough to me. If he was worth fighting for."
If he was worth fighting for. Yseult gazed at her cousin's fine features, repressing a hint of resentment; what experience would Brangwyn have with being turned away? She had been with Kurvenal nearly as long as the two of them had been in Britain.
Brangwyn shook her head. "Yseult, you and Drystan had a love the bards sing about, a love that may well outlive either of us in legend, but it never had to stan
d the test of time — over a dozen years of marriage, separations and temptations, mistakes and harsh words. I may not have been told to leave in so many words, but I have stayed and fought even without the words, and in a situation much more serious than yours, which is no more than a minor incident of misunderstanding and misplaced pride."
Yseult stared at her cousin, stunned. Brangwyn had never told her of any kind of conflict with Kurvenal as serious as that implied. Had she and her cousin truly grown so far apart?
She touched Brangwyn's elbow. "I'm sorry."
"There's no need. Kurvenal and I made it through, and we're stronger for it." But she had looked away, out to the gray ocean, in the direction of what was once home.
Yseult found that she was afraid to ask what had happened; she hadn't been there for her cousin when Brangwyn needed her, and she hardly deserved to hear the story now.
"Of course you weren't there," Brangwyn said, reading her thoughts effortlessly as they used to do. "For years, our lives have only touched in passing. At least we have seen each other a bit more often since Kurvenal took the position here at Dyn Tagell."
At the price of the destruction of Caer Custoeint, her home for nearly ten years.
"We all lose homes, Yseult," Brangwyn said quietly. "We have both lost several. Our lives since the battle of Caer Baddon have been the exception, not the rule, even though we might have been tempted to see it otherwise." She took Yseult's arm and turned around with her to view the new buildings of Dyn Tagell. She traced the faint scar above Yseult's jawbone with one finger before she spoke again. "You nearly lost one too not so long ago."
Yseult felt a faint smile crook up one side of her mouth. "Are you speaking of a home or a life?"
Brangwyn put one arm around Yseult's waist, drawing her close. "A life is a kind of home, don't you think?"
"That's one way of putting it." She thought of Drystan, visiting her mind after his death, almost indistinguishable from her own thoughts for the space of an afternoon. Was he homeless now?
They leaned their heads together, gazing across the promontory, one of the many homes they had shared over the years.
"Yseult, I want you to think about something," Brangwyn said, straightening, her hand still on Yseult's waist.
It sounded ominous. Yseult grimaced. "Yes?"
"I think I understand now one of the personal truths by which you have defined your life. You may not like it."
Yseult stepped back, folding her arms in front of her chest. "Whether I will like it or not, you can hardly not tell me now, after that introduction."
"I only wanted to warn you."
Brangwyn had closed her mind to Yseult; whatever she had to say, she wanted to say it in words, not thoughts and feelings. "I am warned. Go on."
"Yseult, even as strong and independent as you are, in many ways you have defined your life by what you had with Drystan — and what you lost. That experience seems to have taught you that love can only exist under hopeless circumstances, forced into a state of constant renewal. Like the way the two of you kept ending the relationship and beginning again, ending and beginning. And then every time you found your way back into each others' arms, it was almost as if you were freshly in love again, wasn't it?"
Her cousin had been right; Yseult did not like the implication that she was dependent on a man, even a dead one. "In a way it was, yes."
Brangwyn nodded. "And of course nothing can compare to that, the excitement of the first flush of love, over and over again. So since Drystan died, you have been avoiding love; you only want it if it's impossible, since that is the only kind of love you know. That may even be why you suddenly find both Gawain and your husband more interesting."
Yseult turned away and gazed back out to sea. She did not think of herself as avoiding love, did not think of herself as defined by her love for Drystan. She was a ruler and a healer and a mother, a woman who had made a place for herself in a foreign land, who was doing her part to see that the old ways survived into a new era.
That might be her self-definition, but she knew the songs sung about the tragic love between her and Drystan, knew that much of Britain did define her that way. Of course, there were exceptions: those whose lives she had saved with her knowledge of herbs and healing, those who shared a glass of wine with her on occasion and knew her acerbic wit and quick temper. Or so she hoped.
She met Brangwyn's eyes. "An interesting theory. And you were right to be nervous about telling me. I am still considering whether I should be angry with you."
Brangwyn smiled and took Yseult's elbow again, turning back with her towards the lower hall. "I know you do not yet believe me, but do not dismiss my words either. You are running away from Cador, after all."
"He sent me away, Brangwyn."
"Still, perhaps you should return, explain to him what you explained to me."
They passed Yseult's herb garden. This early in the year it was still half dormant, but the plots were neat and well-tended from Brangwyn's care. "He didn't want to listen to my explanation," Yseult said. "I can't return to him until he asks me to."
Her cousin did not immediately reply, and the silence between them stretched out until they reached the door of the hall. Then she stopped and faced Yseult. "Believe me, I understand how you feel. But I think you are going to have to choose between being right or being happy."
"You think returning to Cador would make me happy?"
"Are you happy now?" Brangwyn asked in return, pushing open the door.
Yseult stepped into the home she had first shared with Drystan's father, and the heavy wooden door banged shut behind her.
* * * *
After she had washed off the grime of travel, Yseult lay down in her shift for a short rest, but sleep eluded her. Her conversation with Brangwyn would not leave her in peace. She should have had better answers, should have understood her own motives better.
She decided not to bring up her problems with Cador again. There would be enough to talk about; she still hadn't told Brangwyn what she'd observed in Celliwig.
The next thing she knew, morning sun was streaming through the windows. Yseult pushed herself up on her elbows. How had she managed to sleep through a whole afternoon and the night as well?
When she came down to the hall, Brangwyn and her family were already breaking their fast, and Yseult learned that Judual was to leave that day to join Arthur's forces in Caer Leon. She glanced down the table to where Brangwyn's foster son was drinking and joking with the younger warriors. Telling Brangwyn and Kurvenal what she had seen in Celliwig could wait until Judual was off and the excitement had died down.
That evening, she finally had a chance to bring up the subject of Ginevra. They sat together over a flask of wine after the evening meal, while the servants remained at a discreet distance.
After the dessert had been carried away, Yseult leaned forward. "There's something I need to tell you both, that we need to discuss," she said, her voice low. "On the way here from Lansyen, I stayed in Celliwig for the night. Medraut was there, 'stopping by' on his way back to Caer Leon from Armorica."
Kurvenal leaned forward as well. "Go on."
"There was nothing suspicious about the situation itself. Medraut had left his orphaned son with his mother Anna and claimed he'd hoped to travel back to Caer Leon with Arthur. But I caught memories and worries from Ginevra that gave the story a different interpretation."
Kurvenal's eyes narrowed. "And that was?"
"When Ginevra looked at her nephew, she was remembering incidents where she couldn't decipher his intentions. She is confused and flattered and tempted — and still in love with Cai, thank the gods."
"Medraut's mind is closed to you too?" Brangwyn said.
Yseult nodded. "He must have learned the trick from Nimue. Cador told me they were lovers before she seduced Myrddin away from Arthur."
"But why would Medraut want to seduce his uncle's wife?" Kurvenal asked.
"I asked myself that as well,
" Yseult said. "Perhaps he no longer believes his ambitions will be served by playing loyal nephew to the Dux Bellorum?"
Brangwyn poured herself another glass of wine. "Perhaps he wants to make sure he has other options."
It occurred to Yseult that none of them considered the possibility that Medraut might actually be falling in love with Ginevra. Were they being unfair, or just realistic?
"What do you think we should do?" she asked.
Kurvenal shook his head. "I don't see anything we can do."
"But we cannot ignore it either," Brangwyn said.
Yseult took a sip of wine. Unfortunately, they were both right. They could hardly go to Arthur with nothing more than some memories of a spring flirtation plucked out of Ginevra's mind. Medraut had saved Arthur's life in the battle for Abona, after all.
"I think our only option is to keep an eye on Medraut and Ginevra," Kurvenal said. "Nothing has happened yet, and it is hard to see what Medraut might think to gain."
"Revenge for a lifetime of slights?" Yseult suggested, thinking of Ginevra's memories — Medraut leaning into her, murmuring tender compliments, telling her how little she was appreciated. Seducing his uncle's wife.
Brangwyn grimaced. "Perhaps we can convince Arthur to pay more attention to Ginevra."
They all knew how likely that was after over fifteen years of marriage. Yseult sighed. While Arthur believed in her powers, he did not trust her the same way he'd trusted Myrddin. She was hardly the person to try to convince him that Medraut might be going behind his back. She found herself closing her eyes, looking inward and beyond, wishing she knew what to do, about Ginevra, about Medraut, about Cador.
Armies meeting and colliding, the smell of mud and blood and sweat and leather, the sound of blades clashing and men grunting with exertion.
Yseult felt suddenly ill at the vivid battle scene visiting her here at the hall in Dyn Tagell, but she could not wrench herself away. Was it the peace of Britain ending for good? But no — the vision wasn't of British armies. The warriors screamed insults in the dialect of her homeland, attacking each other largely without armor, to prove their courage, many naked or half-naked. And then her mother's husband Crimthann was taking a blow and falling, falling.
Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) Page 27