After Ricca left, they turned back to watch the events play out below. Little happened at first. Once Cador's mounted warriors had gained the ridge, they seemed to be waiting for Medraut to attack. Medraut, on the other hand, appeared disinclined to charge up the ridge despite his superior numbers, as that would put his forces at a distinct disadvantage.
Then, to Yseult's surprise, Medraut's army turned towards Dyn Draithou and began to ride for the hill-fort.
He was trying to draw Cador out, make him leave his relatively protected position.
No, Cador, no, we're safe here, don't!
But of course he would not listen to her, even if he could hear her. Cador and Gawain's warriors charged down the ridge again, banners waving, their war cries echoing across the plain.
It was exactly what Medraut was waiting for. The besieging army turned and converged on the small force coming down the ridge.
Ricca's cavalry raced out of the gate and down the hill to join the fray, but Medraut's army continued to pursue the men under Cador and Gawain's command. Yseult could see how the warriors from Dyn Draithou engaged some of the stragglers in Medraut's ranks, taking them out fairly quickly, but still the enemy army ignored Ricca and his men.
"They want to take the king," Marrek murmured, almost to himself.
Yseult did not answer. From this distance, she couldn't recognize the figure of Cador among the warriors fighting on the incline, but she thought she saw the great gray stallion Wyllt, his favorite warhorse. She hoped she was wrong, because Medraut's men were deliberately fighting towards the figure on the large stallion.
She clenched her hands at her sides. "No." She hadn't even known she'd spoken out loud until she heard her own voice. Not now, not when they were almost close enough to see each other, closer than they had been in two years. She could almost swear she could feel him, his rage, his fear for her. She tried to send a call to him. I am safe. It is you they are after now. Save yourself!
It had no effect. As she watched, the enemy with their blue shields drove steadily forward, deliberately attacking the warriors fighting beside the man on the gray. It was Cador — it had to be. Targeting one particular warrior made no sense otherwise.
And then the last warrior next to Cador fell — a tall, blond man, shoulder-length hair spreading out beneath his helmet, in a tunic of crimson and white. Yseult raised a fist to her mouth and choked back a sob. Could it be Gawain? The other warriors out of the way, Medraut's men surrounded the lone figure of Cador, cutting him off from the rest of his troops.
Her own men were clashing with the enemy, trying to fight through to join forces with their allies on the ridge. But then a series of horns could be heard. Medraut's men converged in the center of the plain and began riding hard in the direction of the Roman road to the west.
And Yseult could no longer discern the gray stallion or his rider.
The besieging army melted away as if it had never been. Or as if they had achieved their purpose and had never intended to wait on the plain below Dyn Draithou for the hill-fort to fall. As if they had known from the beginning that they could not take it.
Yseult watched Medraut's retreating army, her hands clenched at her sides, not understanding a thing. She was losing Cador yet again, and there was nothing she could do.
"Lady, if they intended to kill him, they would have done so, and they would still be here," came Marrek's gentle voice beside her. "Their retreat only makes sense if they want to use him for ransom or as leverage to get something from you or Arthur."
Yseult nodded, not trusting her own voice. The mounted warriors Yseult had sent out to harry and provoke Medraut were chasing him in the direction of Lindinis, but the distance between them was growing. Besides, with their much smaller numbers they would have little chance of rescuing Cador. Soon Ricca would see sense and turn back. On the ridge opposite, what was left of Cador's troops were regrouping and heading down the slope.
She gazed back to the enemy horses thundering in the direction of the Roman road. Once they disappeared between the distant hills, Yseult's gaze wandered from the horizon up into the summer sky. Harmless white clouds flitted by against brilliant blue, while a refreshing breeze teased at the strands of her braid. It should have been a perfect day. Cador had been so close, and now he was gone, and she didn't know what Medraut would do with him — what chance she had of ever seeing him again.
"Lady? Queen Yseult? Are you all right?"
"Leave me alone for a moment, Marrek, please. I will join you all when Ricca has returned."
He glanced towards where Medraut's army had disappeared, apparently judging it far enough that she would not impulsively take a horse and charge after them. He nodded. "As you wish."
As he turned away, Yseult absently rubbed the corners of her eyes and looked back up into the brilliant blue sky. Could there be any comfort or wisdom in the shape of the clouds? There, one like Kustennin's curls when he was a toddler. The thought reminded her of the youthful King Cador who had always enjoyed taking her little boy up in his arms. For Cador, spending time with the young ones had never been a chore. Although she had long ago taught him the trick of hiding his thoughts, it had been easy enough to read him when he was around children, easy to see the joy that lit up his eyes, how happy he was to be distracted from the duties and responsibilities that had cut short his own youth so early.
Although the day was warm, she hugged her arms around herself and continued to stare up into the sky. There, a cloud like the roll of a gentle hill, much like the hill where Drystan was buried. Could it mean acceptance, perhaps?
In the next cloud she saw the shape of a belly, big with life — but that only reminded her that in her husband's experience, such burgeoning life had led to death, not once but twice, leaving Cador mourning not only two wives, but two unborn children. She could still remember her son's heart-wrenching sobs as he cried himself out on her shoulder after his foster mother Terrwyn's death — and how she'd wondered if he would have as many tears if his own mother died.
The clouds that followed reminded her of the waves off the coast of Dumnonia, just as they had been when she had used her power of calling to go in search of Cador after Arthur suggested they wed — and she had intended to tell him she was agreeable to the proposition.
Agreeable? When she thought about it now, it was surprising how quickly she had consented to the strange notion of marrying Cador, especially given the fact that she'd been so convinced she never wanted to marry again. Not to mention that she had a lover in Gawain, a warrior who was regarded as one of the most desirable men in all of Britain — a ladies' man who had left broken hearts behind him everywhere he'd ever fought.
Something Cador had never done.
Yseult dropped her head into her hands. How had she been so blind for so long? Cador was the one she wanted — not Gawain, not even her laughing, dead Drystan, as much as she still loved him and probably always would. But at some point over the many, many years of their friendship and then marriage, Cador had become a fixed part of her life, the stable center to which she always returned: reliable ally, dear friend, now partner in a marriage that had been both rocky and smooth as they attempted to adjust to each other.
She knew now that it would be even harder learning to live without Cador than it had been learning to live without Drystan.
When had the affection she felt for Cador turned to love? It could have been before his marriage to Terrwyn, or before her affair with Gawain, but she had not recognized it for what it was. This time, love had crept up on her so slowly, had come as such a gradual change, she had never understood what her feeling of connection to him meant. A hint of it had long been there, probably since Cador had been one of the few people allowed to visit her while Marcus Cunomorus held her prisoner in the villa outside of Isca. In those days, he'd been her lifeline, the one who kept her sane, the one person aside from her small son Kustennin and her cousin Brangwyn who brought her joy.
That seed had b
een growing for almost twenty years.
Now that she understood, it made sense that she'd had so few misgivings at Arthur's suggestion she and Cador marry. She loved him. Or was she merely recasting her past to fit her present? She honestly did not know.
What she did know was that she had to get him back. Marrek was right — if Medraut meant to kill Cador, he could have done it on the battlefield just now; then there would have been no need to retreat, no need to abandon the siege.
And as long as Cador was alive, there was a chance that she could save him. She squared her shoulders and concentrated on the valley where Medraut had disappeared with his men, concentrated on the mind of her husband. Stay strong, Cador. We will come for you as soon as we can.
She hoped he wasn't already too far away. But then she was flooded by a sense of relief — was that him?
Ricca and the surviving warriors under his command had given up the chase now and were returning to Dyn Draithou. She left the ramparts and headed in the direction of the main gate to greet them. On the way, she stopped at the kitchens and asked the servants to get a pot of water boiling. She would need it for treating wounds later, once the injured were brought in.
When she arrived at the gate, men were already dismounting — and in their midst was Gawain.
Yseult rushed forward with a glad cry. "Gawain! I thought I saw you fall on the ridge!"
He pulled off his helmet and pushed his sweaty hair back, shaking his head. "As you can see, I am fine," he said, his voice subdued. "It was probably Gaheris you saw on the ridge. He fell trying to keep Medraut from taking Cador. I'm sorry, Yseult."
She laid a hand on his arm. "Oh, no, Gawain, it is I who am sorry. First Gareth, now Gaheris."
"Medraut has much to answer for." Gawain's voice had taken on a brittle edge.
"I am glad at least that you are well."
Gawain nodded shortly, otherwise not responding. Yseult understood.
She took a deep breath. "Gawain, why did Arthur not come with Cador?"
He shook his head. "Cador did not say. He sent a message to Caer Leon, and we met on the road from Durnovaria. I fear Arthur will not be happy until Chlodovech is beaten back to the gates of Parisius."
Yseult could hardly believe how angry she was — at Arthur. "I can only hope he is either soon successful — or soon comes to his senses."
Gawain sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Yes."
Chapter 28
Long white my fingers,
It is long since I have been a herdsman.
I travelled in the earth,
Before I was a proficient in learning.
I travelled, I made a circuit,
I slept in a hundred islands
A hundred Caers I have dwelt in.
Ye intelligent Druids,
Declare to Arthur,
What is there more early
Than I that they sing of.
"The Battle of the Trees" from The Song of Taliesin
They buried all the bodies of their own men — except for that of Gaheris — in the cemetery north of the hill-fort. Gawain wished to have his brother laid to rest in a place he could visit regularly, and for that, the body would have to be sent north to the seat of his wife Ragnell. Yseult saw to the preparation; it was not the first time that she had treated the dead with cedar oil, just as she treated the living with infusions of self-heal and birch bark.
Medraut's dead they burned on a pyre.
Taliesin wrote a poem for the fallen warriors which he recited at the funeral:
There will be to me a true friend, a comrade in battle,
A companion who will take my part and the sword aimed at my heart.
There will be to me an army and flow of blood in a good cause,
The ruddy path of wolf and star against the blue shields.
There will be to me blood and pain, and the glorious moment of victory
Before slow death numbs the limbs and brings the final truth of battle.
There will be to me honor and praise, the tales sung of our deeds,
Songs to let us live on when our bones are cold in the ground.
When Taliesin was done, there were very few dry eyes among the mourners.
A funeral feast had been prepared. After taking leave of the dead, they needed to return to the business of life. But Yseult was not yet ready for the transition. She turned to her mother-in-law. "Please begin the feast without me. I would like to be alone for a moment."
She lingered next to the graves while the others headed back up the hill to Dyn Draithou. Yseult's man-at-arms Rufinus had been among the fallen. She found it hard to imagine he would no longer be at her side, would no longer be saving her from some recklessly courageous act. Too many deaths — and the dying was not yet over.
Dark clouds were collecting on the horizon, a summer storm gathering. It was time to return to the protection of the hill-fort.
As she began to hike the path back up, she could feel her power of knowing pressing at the back of her mind, like the storm threatening just miles away. No — she did not want the knowledge of who was going to die next. She needed hope to carry on, to lead the people of Dumnonia and do whatever she could to see that Cador was rescued. She closed her mind tight against the premonition until slowly it slid away.
By the time Yseult arrived in the great hall of Dyn Draithou, mourning had largely given way to merriment. Bones chewed clean piled high on platters in the middle of the tables, and the air smelled of ale and was loud with tales of brave heroes fallen.
Enid had seated Gawain to Yseult's right with a symbolic place empty to her left, whether for Gaheris or Cador or simply as a gesture to acknowledge the men who had fallen, Yseult did not know. Outside, the summer storm broke, pounding on the roof and walls.
Despite the fact that Cador had been taken and Gaheris and Rufinus killed, Yseult and Gawain did their best to present a brave face at the funeral feast. After what seemed like much more than a mere few hours, the residents of Dyn Draithou began to seek out their beds or — if they had none — settle down on the floor of the hall in their cloaks.
Rain no longer beat down on the roof; it was a good time to retire. Yseult rose, and Gawain followed suit. "Let me walk with you."
She nodded, and together they left the hall.
The storm had swept away the clouds, and the moon was high and round and bright while the air remained moist and cool. The buildings of Dyn Draithou were clearly visible in the moonlight, all the colors leeched out except blue and gray and black. To the southwest, on the road to Cerniw, Cador was in the power of Medraut. She wondered if he had enough freedom to see a beautiful night like this, or if he was being kept somewhere without windows or doors.
"It is the beginning of the end," Gawain said suddenly as they left the shadows of the buildings.
She glanced at him sharply. "Do not say such things, Gawain, I beg you. The situation may seem hopeless now, but it is war. When living through a war, it always seems like the worst."
Gawain shrugged. "Perhaps. But I have lived through war many times before, and never have I been so hopeless. I find myself suddenly the last of my brothers, although I am older than either Gareth or Gaheris."
They climbed to the top of the ramparts. In the moonlight, the plain and hills below them were like a misty landscape from the Otherworld, a dream conjured by the likes of Taliesin.
She leaned her elbows on the ramparts. "I'm sorry, Gawain. It is hard for me to imagine how you are feeling. My only sibling is a boy I barely know, far away in another land."
He stared out at the moonlit landscape. "Of my brothers, Gareth was the one who was more well-liked," he said quietly, not looking at her, just needing to talk. "Gareth had a sunny temperament; he was easy to get along with. Despite that, Gaheris was the one I was closest to."
Yseult was surprised — not only had she shared the opinion of Gareth and Gaheris most people held, she had often seen Gawain's protectiveness towards his youngest brother.<
br />
Gawain gazed over at the ridge where his brother had died, his handsome lips pressed thin. "Not only were we less than two years apart in age, Gaheris was fiercely loyal, despite all his sarcasm and rough edges. He had depths he didn't show most people. Don't get me wrong, I loved Gareth too, but Gaheris — he was my right arm. We have been together most of the last twenty years. I could trust him implicitly, rely on him in all things. I —"
And then his voice broke, and he turned to Yseult. She didn't think of herself as someone who was very good at giving comfort, but she went to him, holding him close while he shuddered with painful sobs. She could feel tears rolling down her own cheeks, tears for Gareth, tears for Gaheris, tears for Gawain, who had lost two brothers in just the last few months. Tears for Cador, in Medraut's power in Celliwig, and tears for herself, that she had lost him again before she had even found him.
She didn't know how long they stood there like that, holding each other in the moonlight, comforting each other with closeness. But at some point tears and sobs stilled and they stood still, gradually realizing the physical nearness, rediscovering a knowledge they'd once shared.
Gawain lifted his head, and Yseult gazed up at him. He was the only lover she'd ever had who was so much taller that she had to crane her neck in this position.
This position. The way two people stood together who were about to kiss.
For a moment she was frozen in his arms. The need for physical comfort was strong — but they had both found something else now, someone who was right for them.
She gently eased out of his embrace and stepped back, rubbing her aching eyes with the back of her hand.
"Thank you, Yseult," came his deep voice. Without opening her mind to his, still she knew that he was not only thanking her for holding him while he wept.
She smiled and nodded. "And I thank you. I think that was necessary for both of us. Perhaps you should follow your brother's body north? See to his burial and visit your wife and child again?"
"And leave you to face Medraut alone?" he said, shaking his head. "I think not. If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself."
Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) Page 45