And then the hart made a surprise dash in an unexpected direction. At the sharp turn, Kustennin's mount briefly lost its footing and stumbled, throwing Kustennin into the bushes.
Loholt pulled up beside him. "Are you unhurt?"
Kustennin rose shakily, brushing himself off and testing his limbs. "It seems so. Gave me no more than a scare."
"Good." Loholt waited while Kustennin remounted, and they took up the pursuit again, slower this time, following the baying hounds.
"We should still be able to catch up in time for the kill," Kustennin said.
"I hope so!"
They urged their horses to more speed. But just as they were nearing the hunting party again, a ferret or some other rodent dashed out in front of Kustennin's now skittish mare, and she reared and threw him a second time.
Luckily the forest floor was soft with loam, and Kustennin had nothing more than a few additional bruises.
He waved Loholt in the direction of the hunt. "Go on ahead! I seem to be accident-prone today, and I do not want to be responsible for you missing the kill."
Loholt nodded and spurred his gelding down the path, soon disappearing between the trees.
Kustennin remounted, but the nervous mare now refused to go any faster than a trot. She seemed to be favoring her left foreleg. Kustennin sighed, resigned to missing the high point of the hunt. At least at this pace she was not likely to throw him a third time.
Ahead, the baying of the hounds was growing more frantic — the hart had probably turned now, exhausted, and the dogs had to be restrained to keep them from attacking.
When he finally caught up to the hunting party in a clearing full of light and shadow, it was as he had expected: the fun was already over, the hart dead on the forest floor. The head huntsman was tossing the hunting hounds fresh pieces of meat from the carcass as a reward, and the laughter of success filled the clearing.
Kustennin looked around and saw Judual and Anir, but no sign of Loholt. He urged his limping mare over to his friends and dismounted. "Where is Loholt? Did he not catch up to the party?"
Judual shrugged. "I have not seen him."
"Nor I," Anir added.
Medraut was standing nearby and overheard them. "What happened?"
"My mare threw me — twice. The second time I told Loholt to go ahead without me."
"And Loholt is missing now?" Medraut asked, his voice raised.
"I didn't see him on the way here."
Cai noticed that something was the matter and joined them. When they explained that Loholt seemed to have gone missing, he glanced around the members of the hunting party. "I do not see him either."
Cold dread began to creep into Kustennin's chest. Loholt should have arrived ahead of him.
"I'll go look for him," Cai said, swinging himself up on the back of his gelding. Before anyone could volunteer join him, Cai was already disappearing through the trees.
Most of the hunting party was still unaware that anything was wrong, busy watching the huntsmen tie up the carcass of the deer and prepare it for transportation back to Caer Leon.
"We should search for Loholt too," Kustennin said.
"Yes, let's," Medraut agreed.
They remounted and Kustennin led them the way he had come, the path that Loholt presumably would have taken. But they rode all the way to the spot where his mare had thrown him the second time without seeing any sign of either Loholt or Cai.
"This is where you last saw him?" Anir asked.
"Yes," Kustennin said, feeling miserable.
Anir reined in his prancing mount. "Then we should return along the same track, try to discern any disturbed undergrowth where Loholt might have gone off the path or tried to take a shortcut."
Before they could put their plan into effect, a scream of grief cut through what was left of the sounds of the hunt, the occasional barks of the dogs and the dull sound of distant chatter.
"No!" Kustennin whirled his mare around and galloped back to where the hart had been felled.
He burst into the clearing to see Cai pulling a limp body with golden-blond hair down from the withers of his horse, while Ginevra knelt on the ground, sobbing. Most of the remaining members of the hunting party stood in various shocked poses like a tableau, except for Gareth and Bedwyr, who were helping Cai with the body. When Kustennin opened his mind, the presence of Loholt was nowhere to be found.
Kustennin did not want to believe it. He'd seen enough death during the recent battles against the sons of Caw and the Pictish tribes, but not of friends. Loholt was so young and so full of life.
Arthur strode through the crowd and dropped to his knees next to his wife. He reached for Loholt's wrist, his face a mask. Arthur did not seem to accept the evidence of his own eyes, of his palm on skin where no pulse could be found. As he watched, Kustennin felt tears streaming down his face.
The Dux Bellorum rose and turned. "Bedwyr, your cape."
Bedwyr unbuckled the clasp at his neck and laid the material down on the ground next to Loholt's body.
"Anir, Kustennin."
Together they moved the body onto the cape and grasped the ends of the material. As they began to move through the hunting party, all silent now but for Ginevra's sobs, Kustennin saw Celemon nearby, her fist in her mouth and her eyes wide in pain and shock. Aurelius stood next to her, one hand on her shoulder. Just behind them was Medraut, his expression grim.
* * * *
The next two days remained warm and sunny, but life in Caer Leon proceeded as if covered in a blanket of snow. The body of Loholt lay in state in the church, a building that had once been the main hall of the Roman baths. Illtud had arrived from his school with Gildas and several other pupils, and preparations were being made for the burial. The streets of the city seemed strangely quiet, the voices of the inhabitants hushed. Ginevra spent all day praying next to the body of her son, while Arthur seemed to avoid the church and what had been taken from him.
Instead of dealing with his loss, he called his companions together to discuss the latest news from Gaul.
Kustennin watched Arthur unroll a map of northern Gaul and Armorica and put weights on the corners to keep it flat. He found it hard to understand the kind of mourning that seemed to ignore what it did not want to acknowledge as true. The news from across the sea was not that urgent. Chlodovech was not yet attacking the British kingdoms in Armorica — and Arthur had just lost a son. Why was he not with his wife, mourning Loholt's death? As quiet as the rest of them were, Kustennin suspected he was not the only one who felt so.
Arthur summarized the contents of the most recent pleas for help from the kings of Armorica. On the map, he traced the progress of Chlodovech's army over the course of the summer.
After his analysis of the situation, Arthur turned to his Master of Horse. "What do you think our options are, Cai?"
"I think after a period of mourning we should continue training and recruiting. The threat to your mother's seat is not yet acute."
Arthur pursed his lips, and Kustennin could feel that he was about to give a short answer to one of his best friends — when the door slammed open and Peredur stormed in.
"Welcome, Peredur," Arthur said. "Were you successful in recovering the church treasures of Verulamium?"
Peredur did not even acknowledge the question. Instead, he strode straight to where Cai sat and pulled him out of his chair. "You! Villain!"
Cai's face went instantly red, and his right hand formed a fist.
"Peredur!" Arthur thundered. "I will have no brawling in this room! Whatever quarrel you have with Cai, it is to stay outside of the council!"
The younger warrior released Cai and knelt in front of Arthur — as if he were royalty. Kustennin found himself wondering if Arthur had ever forbidden such gestures or if it was only a legend created by the enthusiastic warriors who fought with him and the bards who sang his fame.
"Rise, Peredur," Arthur said. Not please do not kneel before me. "Now, explain your reason for
insulting one of my companions in this manner." Pronounced regally, not like a fighting man among equals.
But then Peredur's response chased all other thoughts away. "Dux, I have learned something that throws Cai's discovery of your son's body in a completely different light."
"And what would that be?"
Peredur's voice trembled. "Cai slew Loholt."
Cai lunged for Peredur, but Bedwyr held him back, his lips pressed tight. Otherwise, it was as if everyone in the room had been struck dumb.
Arthur lifted one hand palm outwards, commanding Cai with a gesture to sit down again. The muscles of Cai's forearms were bulging with tension; Bedwyr had to push him gently back into his chair.
"How do you come by this knowledge?" Arthur asked.
"A beggar outside of Caer Leon told me."
"Did this witness say Cai was the slayer of my son by name?"
"He did, Dux."
"How would a simple beggar be able to recognize Cai the Tall?"
Taken aback, Peredur did not immediately answer. "Cai is famous in these parts as one of your companions!" he finally got out.
"Yes, but what is he famous for?" Arthur asked. "For being a tall, blond, warrior? I'm surprised the beggar did not accuse you of slaying my son."
Despite the subdued atmosphere among Arthur's companions, there was a spatter of relieved laughter.
Peredur's expression grew stubborn. "The beggar was quite certain Cai deliberately slew Loholt."
"How did this beggar describe the incident?"
"He saw Cai fall upon your son in the forest."
"With an arrow?"
"I do not know what weapon he used, Dux. But the witness was very specific that Cai killed Loholt deliberately."
"Why did you not bring him with you so that we could question him?"
"It did not occur to me it would be necessary."
"That was a mistake, Peredur. Murder is a very serious accusation."
"I stand by my testimony."
"Then I suggest you go find your beggar and bring him to Caer Leon so that we can question him ourselves."
Peredur nodded shortly and left the council chamber. Everyone knew that Peredur held a grudge against Cai for thoughtlessly insulting him when he first arrived in Caer Leon; but at the same time, Peredur was regarded as unflinchingly honest, sometimes naively so. Kustennin had felt no dishonesty in him when he told his tale of the beggar.
Then what was behind the story?
Arthur locked his hands behind his back and began to pace, relieving some of his anger in movement. The maps of Gaul were forgotten, and with them, the pleas from their Armorican "allies" — none of whom had come to the aid of Dumnonia when the sons of Caw were attacking their coast. "Unless we have a more reliable witness, we are not to regard the rumor Peredur brought into these walls."
There was a murmur of assent.
"And I expressly forbid you to challenge Peredur to avenge your honor, Cai," Arthur continued, still pacing.
Cai's expression grew stormy.
Arthur stopped in front of Kustennin. "And what does the young king of Dumnonia say to all this?"
At first, Kustennin was so surprised he couldn't speak — until he felt from the Dux Bellorum that the powers he had inherited from his mother were needed, weak as they were. "We all know that Cai could not have killed Loholt — what reason would he have? But I don't think Peredur is lying either."
"No, it did not seem so, did it?" Arthur responded, continuing to play the game. "But if they are both telling the truth, who is lying?"
Kustennin shrugged. "A very good question. Perhaps you should consult your cousin Modrun — she strikes me as a good judge of people."
Something resembling a smile briefly visited Arthur's face and disappeared again. "That she is. Good advice, Kustennin."
They were interrupted by a commotion outside of Arthur's council chambers, female voices both hysterical and placating, accompanied by lightly shod running feet.
Ginevra and her ladies.
She burst into the room in much the same way Peredur had, tears streaming down her face. Half a dozen other women tumbled into the room after her. She stopped several strides into the chamber and glanced from Cai to Arthur and back, as if deciding where to launch her attack.
The choice fell on Cai, and she stormed over to him. Bedwyr stood behind his friend, a determined hand on his shoulder to keep him in his seat.
"How could you? Why? My son?" Ginevra screamed and sobbed at the same time, choking out her barely comprehensible accusations.
"Cai," Bedwyr said, the name a warning.
"I did not kill your son, Madame," Cai said, slowly and carefully. "And I am surprised you should so readily believe the word on the streets."
Ginevra let out a keening howl of anguish and slapped Cai across the face with all the energy in her slight body. Cai's head snapped back from the impact, but he didn't move.
Arthur did.
Grabbing his wife's shoulders, he whirled her around to face him. "Ginevra! Nothing has been proven against my Master of Horse. He does not deserve such treatment."
"And nothing will be proven against him, will it?" Ginevra spat out. "Everyone knows you love your famous companions more than your own kin!"
All the men in the room knew how little there was left to destroy in Arthur's unfortunate marriage, but Kustennin feared they had just witnessed the rending of the last few shreds remaining from almost two decades of incompatibility.
Arthur dropped his hands, as if he could no longer bear to touch the beautiful woman he had married. "Ginevra, not here," he said so low that no one would hear who was not standing next to him — or who did not possess a little of the powers of the Old Race.
Ginevra straightened, lifting her chin. "I demand that Cai be punished."
"It is not your place to demand any such thing."
"Will you have your friend tried?"
Kustennin caught angry thoughts from all over the room. Many even thought Ginevra was acting out of spite, the revenge of a woman scorned. Kustennin caught no such motives from her, however; she truly seemed to believe Cai capable of killing Loholt.
"If the beggar who accused him is found, yes," Arthur was saying now.
"Then let us hope your search is successful." With that, Ginevra whirled on her heel and marched out of the council chamber, followed by her ladies.
As he watched Ginevra's dramatic exit, a feeling of dread clenched Kustennin's chest tight. With this rift between Arthur and Ginevra, something was beginning that would have far-reaching consequences for all of them, he was sure of it.
He turned away, and his gaze caught on Medraut. His face was a blank: no shock, no distress, no anger, no apprehension. Kustennin tried to probe Medraut's mind — and found nothing.
Suddenly Kustennin felt very cold, despite the heat of a high summer day.
* * * *
Arms crossed, Cador walked slowly around the mare, a pale dappled gray, long in the leg and broad in the chest, and did his best to hide his interest. Which wasn't hard at the moment, given the fact that the thought of Yseult was never far from his mind. She'd been gone for over four months now, it was high summer, and he'd received only one letter from her since she arrived in Eriu, a terse confirmation that she was well. But Crimthann was not and she did not know how long she would need to stay in Dun Ailinne.
They had long since learned that Crimthann was dead and there was fighting among the tribes of the Laigin. He could only hope that was not the reason he had not heard from her for so long. Much better if it was only because she did not want to write, given the way they'd parted.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead and glanced behind him to his steward Alun. "What do you think?"
Alun rubbed his chin, gazing at the mare. "With her long neck and well-sloped shoulders, she would probably be fast and good for riding."
"That she is!" the owner agreed quickly.
"But if she is as sound as you say,
why would you want to sell a healthy mare in foal?" Cador asked, making his voice sound as suspicious as he could manage. The doubts were there, of course, but he could come up with any number of reasons a craftsman or small farmer would bring a prime mare to market after the last few years of harsh winters and bad harvests.
The man confirmed Cador's suspicions. "This harvest doesn't look to be any better than the last, and we're unlikely to have enough grain stored to feed the family through the next winter. I can get a better price for her now than if I wait until we're starving — and all our neighbors with us."
"You are a farmer?"
"Yes, Lord."
"Then I truly can believe her a luxury beyond your means."
"I came by her honestly!" the farmer assured him hurriedly. "I have a cousin who breeds horses and he gave me a good price, as a present for my wife at the birth of our son."
More and more Cador was inclined to pay the man what the fine mare was worth, even though it was clear he could get a much better deal for her, given the farmer's desperation. Cador knew he had a reputation as someone who was inveterately honest; he was often able to use that to his advantage when he visited the local horse fairs, without straining it so much that he might be in danger of losing his reputation. But sometimes, like now, he couldn't resist being as fair as possible.
"If you give me the name and direction of your horse-breeding cousin, I will pay the asking price," Cador said, without dickering.
The farmer's face lit up. "Gladly, Lord!"
Cador motioned Alun to carry out the formalities while he sauntered ahead, inspecting the nearby livestock up for sale. The field outside of Durnovaria where the semi-annual horse fair was held smelled of dung and dust and horse hide, but wandering through the crowds between the pens gave him a measure of comfort. When he had returned to Lindinis after Yseult's departure, there had been plenty to do with the spring planting and then the many ongoing tasks of villa life in summer. For the fourth year in a row, the last freeze was later than usual, meaning the first fruit of the season was later as well, strawberries not ripening until late in June, and cherries not until almost July. But over a dozen mares had given birth to healthy foals, the rest of the summer looked to be warmer than those previous, and Cador was able to find some consolation in watching things grow and flourish.
Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) Page 32