Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles)

by Ruth Nestvold

  While the news of Ginevra and Medraut does not sound good, it would be most welcome if you and Modrun were able to clear Cai's name.

  More than anything else, I wish I were now traveling north, crossing the Gaulish Sea to Britain, making my way to Caer Leon or wherever you and the baby are now. Riona. Our little queen.

  I hope this letter finds you both safe and well.

  Your Cador

  Yseult to Cador, greetings.

  I will pray to any gods who will hear me that the Armorican rulers send reinforcements soon. They certainly cannot want Chlodovech defeating Arthur, for then the Frankish king would soon march on to their own doorsteps. Perhaps they too were taken by surprise at how quickly the Franks were able to regroup.

  Modrun has returned from Eburacum, and we are hopeful that we will be able to find this beggar who accused Cai. Peredur was not particularly helpful, seeming to see every doubt raised of his own words as an accusation, but Modrun has his memories of the incident now. With that, it is much more likely that she will be able to find the witness.

  I am planning to return to Lindinis soon. It is August, and it would be good to be there for the harvest. Your mother wrote, urging us to come; she is very eager to see Riona. Now that Modrun is back in Caer Leon, she can keep an eye on things. Besides, I do not see what more can be accomplished here until the beggar is found.

  Please keep yourself safe, Cador, for my sake as well as for Riona's.

  Your Yseult

  * * * *

  Medraut closed the thin sheets of birch wood and gazed at the neatly planted courtyard of his townhouse in Caer Leon. Cwylli had loved growing things, had spent many hours designing the arrangements of plants and flowers, roses and lilies, violets and herbs. Sometimes he wondered what his life would have been like had she not died after the wedding of Cador and Yseult. Or how things would have developed if Nimue had returned to him after seducing Myrddin away from Arthur.

  But none of those things had happened, and now he was on a clear path to his goal.

  It was a good thing he had intercepted this letter, however — he'd had no idea what Modrun and Yseult were planning, no idea how much Modrun had already discovered. Now he did, and he could take the necessary steps.

  Chapter 25

  While Arthur wars abroad and reaps renown,

  Guenevera prefers his son's desire;

  And traitorous Mordred still usurps the crown,

  Affording fuel to her quenchless fire,

  But death's too good, and life too sweet for these,

  That wanting both should taste of neither's ease.

  Thomas Hughes, "The Misfortunes of Arthur"

  Yseult and her party were waiting for the ferry to Abona, when a feeling of dread darkened her vision and squeezed her heart tight.

  She turned to Ricca. "We must go back to Caer Leon. Something has happened." She saw the way Sevi's face fell; her servant had been looking forward to returning to the comforts of villa life, as had they all.

  By evening, they were once again riding past the amphitheater and entering the southwestern gate. As they approached the principia, Gareth came out to meet them and help their party dismount.

  "Yseult! Did my messenger catch up with you?"

  She shook her head shortly. "What has happened?"

  "Modrun is dead. She was killed on the road between Caer Leon and Caer Gwent, presumably bandits."

  Modrun dead? At the words, Yseult realized she had somehow regarded the older woman as too wise to succumb to a simple attack by thieves. "Did she not have her honor guard with her?"

  "All died with her except one, a certain Kevern, and he cannot be found."

  Yseult rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. Only this morning, she and Modrun had taken leave of each other, Yseult going south for the journey to Lindinis, Modrun heading east to visit her sons in Caer Gwent. What if Yseult had taken the land route, had traveled with Modrun to Caer Gwent and then on to Glevum and south from there? Would she be dead now too? Or could she have saved the others somehow?

  She lowered her hand and looked at Gareth. "May we return to Modrun's house for the time being?"

  Gareth nodded. "I cannot imagine Caradoc or Aurelius would have anything against it. I presume they will be here tomorrow, and then we can make other arrangements."

  Yseult cared little what arrangements would be made on the morrow. Right now she was hoping some of Modrun's spirit yet remained in the place she'd called home for the last years of her life — enough to perhaps tell Yseult something about her death.

  * * * *

  After assuring herself that the baby was sleeping peacefully, Yseult began to wander through the rooms of Modrun's house. Almost everywhere, she felt the presence of Modrun's discontented spirit in the things she'd left behind, but it was greatest in a small room off the atrium that held a writing table and several shelves.

  She sank down into the wide, comfortable chair in front of the writing table, leaned her head back against the headrest, and closed her eyes. "How did you die, Modrun? Why are you restless?"

  At first, she felt little more than the discontent she'd been picking up all through the house. Then slowly the feeling gathered, turning into anger, and the world around Yseult began to shift.

  She is riding through a forest, surrounded by the armed escort that always accompanies her, despite the fact that this road is one of the safest in Britain, so close to the strongholds of both Caer Leon and Caer Gwent.

  She feels danger just before it strikes. "An attack!" she calls out. "Arm yourselves!"

  Her men-at-arms draw their swords, forming a protective wall around her, but they don't have a chance — their foe consists of at least twenty men, obviously well-trained warriors. No simple bandits.

  She considers drawing the dagger she wears at her waist, but it is not a very efficient weapon fighting on horseback.

  "Lady, here!" calls Kevern.

  She wheels her mount around to see that two of her men have fought a temporary gap through the attackers. She kicks her heels to her mare's sides and gallops between them and down the road back in the direction of Caer Leon.

  Immediately, there are pounding hooves behind her, but she does not look back, leaning low over her mare's neck and urging her on. Despite her best efforts, her pursuers are upon her, and then she is knocked from her horse and rolling on the ground. Now is time for the dagger. She draws it and is able to slash the warrior across the face who pulled her from her mount. He falls back screaming and clutching at the wound, but another warrior is beside her, sword raised high above his head. He brings it down straight into her chest and wrenches it out again. The pain is excruciating, but luckily it is soon followed by the cold of impending death.

  As she lies there, bleeding her life into the packed dirt of the road, she sees the attackers make short work of her men.

  But where is Kevern? Did he escape?

  As she is lingering on the border between life and death, she hears one of them call out, "Make sure to take any valuables! Medraut instructed us to make it look like bandits!"

  If she still had any trace of doubt, it is gone.

  Her death is an assassination.

  Yseult opened her eyes. To her surprise, she found that her cheeks were wet with tears. She'd experienced the deaths of so many friends and relatives, proud and tearless, being the queen her mother taught her to be — but she had never experienced the death of anyone close to her as her own, feeling the blood seep away with no one there to help.

  She wiped off the tears and stood. "I will do my best to avenge you, Modrun," she said to the air of the small room.

  Not wanting to retire haunted by thoughts of death, Yseult leaned over the edge of the infant bed where her daughter slept. Several weeks ago, Riona had outgrown her basket, and now she slept in a larger bed with wooden sides to keep her from falling out. Her swaddling clothes had loosened and she'd kicked off the blankets and lay with her tiny arms splayed above her head.
Gently, Yseult retrieved the blanket and pulled it up to her daughter's chin.

  Cador's child.

  She remembered Brangwyn's words before Yseult left for Eriu: she could be right or she could be happy.

  Please, Danu, bring him home safe. She didn't know if he would truly want her back when he returned, despite the kind words in his letters, but if nothing else, Riona would make him happy. Cador deserved that.

  * * * *

  The next day found Yseult in a small audience chamber in the principia with Gareth, while their personal guard waited outside the door.

  Gareth leaned one elbow on the table beside him, rubbing his forehead. "You are sure they said it was Medraut's doing in your vision?"

  Yseult nodded shortly. "It makes sense." And then she told him of Modrun's trip to Eburacum and her meeting with Peredur. "He must have learned that Modrun had Peredur's memories with which to search for the beggar. By all the gods, no." Yseult covered her mouth with one hand and closed her eyes.

  "What is it, Yseult?"

  She lowered her hand and looked at him. "He may have intercepted a letter I wrote to Cador. I told him about it."

  Gareth gazed at her in sympathy. "You do not know that. You cannot blame yourself for Modrun's death."

  Unfortunately, he was wrong — she certainly could blame herself.

  "I agree with you, this all looks very suspicious," Gareth continued. "But I do not know what I can do unless the beggar or Kevern, or both, are found."

  "Would it be possible to increase the fighting men posted near the houses of Medraut and Ginevra without incurring suspicion? Perhaps establish a discreet tail on Medraut?"

  Gareth glanced at her sharply. "A guard? What for?"

  "If you do not want your uncle to lose a second wife, you should consider it."

  "You think they mean to run off together?"

  "I think it is a possibility, especially if Medraut begins to feel cornered. If he is responsible for the framing of Cai and the death of Modrun, it all has to do with gaining and keeping the Queen of Cerniw — and the power that comes with her."

  "Yes. Of course." He stood for a moment lost in thought, his arms folded in front of his chest, staring at the pattern of tiles at his feet. Finally he looked up, his expression troubled. "Do you know what Medraut is about?"

  Yseult shook her head. "His mind is closed to me — he has learned the trick."

  "That complicates things. And of course the fact that we have so few warriors in Caer Leon. I'll think about it."

  It was not as much as she had hoped for, but at least he had listened to her and taken her words seriously. And he was warned of potential conflict brewing.

  As she left the principia, her gaze caught on a warrior with an evil scar on his cheek and forehead, a diagonal gash nearly cutting his face in half, still healing. Like the wound Modrun had given the warrior who'd thrown her from her horse.

  She glanced at the rest of the party of warriors. Leading their way was Arthur's handsome nephew, Medraut, his dark brown hair curling around his collar.

  * * * *

  On a late summer afternoon a little over a week after Modrun's funeral, Yseult was sitting with Brangwyn in the house she had taken in Caer Leon. Brangwyn had come for the funeral and remained while Yseult took up the search for the beggar. Without Modrun it would be difficult. Memories of memories told her little, and instead of magic they were forced to resort to inquiries among the unfortunate and disadvantaged of Caer Leon. Yseult longed to leave intrigue behind and return to Lindinis, but she felt obligated to continue the search that had killed her friend.

  "I do not think you should go among the former slaves anymore," Brangwyn said. "Even cloaking yourself in illusion may not be enough to hide what you are doing. If it comes to Medraut's ears that questions are being asked, he will be quick to draw conclusions."

  Yseult watched Riona crawl in the direction of the fountain, where a fearless robin was washing its feathers. "I should talk to Aurelius before he leaves Caer Leon. I think he will believe what I saw. Then he and his brother Caradoc can take over searching for the beggar."

  Brangwyn nodded slowly. "Yes, Aurelius will believe you. But you must impress on him the need for proof before accusing Medraut — as opposed to Gareth, he might be too inclined to regard your vision as enough." She rose from the bench where they sat and got down on her knees next to Riona. The baby gave her a smile and crawled faster. Finally the bird decided the company was too much and flew away. Just as Yseult was considering whether she should fetch her writing set and begin a letter, Ginevra was announced.

  Ginevra entered the garden, and Yseult rose, smiling. "Welcome! Riona and Brangwyn and I were just enjoying the sun. Would you care to join us?"

  "Gladly."

  Ginevra sank down on a bench, and Yseult instructed the servant to bring refreshments. Riona was still crawling around in the garden, laughing at all the adventures the world had to offer, while Brangwyn crawled around with her, to the baby's glee.

  "Any word from Arthur?" Yseult asked.

  The younger woman gave a guilty start. "Not for nearly a month."

  In recent weeks, Ginevra's thoughts had become harder to read — perhaps Medraut had finally managed to teach her the trick of building a wall in her mind. But today, Yseult could feel a tumult of tension and happiness and fear, too much for Ginevra to shield from her. What was going on?

  Yseult sighed. "I had hoped you would have more recent news of the war than I."

  "I am so tired of war!" Ginevra rose and sat down next to Riona and Brangwyn on the mosaic floor. "Tell me instead how Riona gets on."

  Yseult smiled. "There is little to tell — you see her several times a week."

  "Has she learned any words besides 'mama' yet?"

  "No, but she understands more and more. I wish Cador were here to experience it."

  "She understands quite a bit," Brangwyn said, chuckling. "Riona." The baby looked up at her mother's cousin, her expression alert. "Riona, can you find Ginevra?"

  Riona looked around until her gaze lit on the newcomer. She let out a giggling gurgle of accomplishment and crawled over to the queen of Cerniw. Ginevra laughed out loud at Riona's attention, and Yseult felt the other woman's guard drop. Ginevra was thrilled that the baby already knew her name, was so happy with a baby around, would be even happier when her own child arrived. A babe to replace Loholt.

  And then Yseult knew the reason for Ginevra's conflicting emotions — Arthur's wife was pregnant. She glanced at Brangwyn and saw the stunned confirmation in her cousin's eyes.

  Ginevra was expecting a baby that was impossibly Arthur's.

  * * * *

  The next evening, Yseult sought out Gareth at home rather than in the principia, taking Riona and Brangwyn along to make it look like a private visit. While Lyonors and Brangwyn sat together with a glass of wine and watched the children play, Yseult drew Gareth aside. "I know you will not want to hear this, but I think you should reconsider putting a guard on Ginevra."

  He glanced at her sharply. "Why?"

  "She's pregnant."

  "And Arthur is not the father?"

  She shook her head.

  Gareth drew in a deep breath. "Are you sure?"

  "Gareth, think, Arthur has been gone for almost five months. And Ginevra is still as slim as she ever was."

  Normally Gawain's youngest brother was a good-natured man, not as inclined to swear as most warriors, but now he let out a string of angry curses beneath his breath, a creative mix of both Latin and British.

  "I'm afraid when she begins to show it will force Ginevra and Medraut to take action," Yseult murmured.

  "I presume it will." He dragged his blond bangs back from his forehead. "I will post a guard on Ginevra's lodgings."

  * * * *

  The leaves were beginning to turn when she had a message from Aurelius: they'd had no luck finding the beggar, but he'd located Modrun's missing man-at-arms, Kevern.

  "Apparent
ly Kevern thought Medraut would murder him too if he knew he'd survived, so he went into hiding," Yseult told Brangwyn that evening at supper. "Hopefully he will be able to identify the assassins."

  "And then what?" Brangwyn said, feeding a piece of apple to Riona, who sucked and chewed happily with her baby teeth. "Do you really think Ginevra will believe a common soldier that Medraut arranged Modrun's death?"

  As much as she hated to admit it, Yseult knew Brangwyn was right. Ginevra could be very stubborn when she'd made up her mind about something — and not only had she made up her mind about Medraut, he was the father of her unborn child.

  "At least with a witness, Medraut could be publicly accused of Modrun's murder," Yseult said with more confidence than she felt.

  Her sleep that night was uneasy, her dreams vivid and disturbing. In the middle of the night, she shot up in bed, her heart pounding wildly, the way it would if she had been woken by a loud noise. She shook her head. She heard no sign of trouble, nothing that would account for the way she'd started awake. Nonetheless, the feeling gripping her chest tight was the same she'd had when she smelled smoke in the attack on Ard Ladrann in her youth, or when she'd awoken in the church outside of Dyn Tagell before hiding in the caves, or when the rebel Laigin tribes had attacked Druim Dara just over a year ago.

  Something was wrong.

  She threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed, grabbing for the clothes she'd discarded on a nearby stool. Yanking the shift down around her hips, she leaned over Riona's bed. Her daughter was tossing her arms restlessly but still asleep, and Yseult hurried out of her chamber. In the atrium with its open ceiling, she finally did hear it: the distant sound of blades clashing and warriors cursing and bystanders screaming.

  Why had her personal guard not yet reacted to the commotion? "Ricca! Marrek! Valerius! Granwen! Fighting in the streets!"

  At her shout, her men-at-arms appeared slowly at her side, rubbing sleep out of their eyes with one hand, swords in the other. And still there had not been any warning horns.