She leaned her forehead against his. "Cador. I am so grateful you are alive. In the last few weeks, I realized I can hardly imagine a life without you any more."
She felt the hint of a smile bloom in his mind. "But you have lived without me for over two years."
"And it was probably the longest I have gone without seeing you for at least a decade," she said, raising her head again. "But to never see you again, never return to you, never come to you when I need friendship or help? You have become such a fixed part of my life, I didn't realize how much I rely on you, how much I need you."
He took her hand and squeezed it. "Thank you, Yseult."
"I watched from the ramparts of Dyn Draithou when Medraut captured you, and that was when I knew how blind I'd been. I love you, Cador. If you have no will to recover for yourself, please try to do so for me — and Riona."
He stared at her in the flickering light, and she could feel astonishment begin to take over from hopelessness.
"I fear I will always be stubborn and arrogant," she continued, her voice a little unsteady. "But I promise I will try to hold that in check. Perhaps you can learn to love me too someday."
Cador blinked and then laughed, a sound that filled Yseult with relief. "Yseult. Oh, Yseult. I have loved you since I was a boy. You cannot imagine how grateful I am that you taught me the trick of shielding my thoughts all those years ago."
"Oh." She didn't know what to say. How could she not have noticed? Why had he not told her? That was easy enough — for years she had been in love with his cousin, and she had never given him any reason to think that had changed.
Then it finally hit her — Cador loved her too. She found herself laughing. "I never took you for such a good actor."
"I am no actor. You were never interested in my feelings for you, one way or another." He dropped his voice and pressed her hand again. "I will survive for you and Riona, I promise. You have done your duty by me and now you can tend to the other injured."
She smiled and rose, still holding his hand. "That I will."
But when she left the hill-fort to seek out the wounded outside the ramparts, the first duty she found herself confronted with was comforting Ragnell.
The body of Gawain had been found.
* * * *
By the time Ragnell was able to make arrangements for Gawain's body to be taken north for burial, Cador had left his sickbed and was hobbling around Celliwig on crutches. He found Gawain's widow outside of the northern gate, inspecting wagons and arguing with cartwrights.
"Ragnell!"
She turned, and for a moment he had the impression that one half of her face was a disfigured mass of scars. He shook his head, and the illusion vanished.
She approached. "Yes, Cador?"
"I wanted to ask you to wait with Gawain's funeral until I am recovered enough to travel."
"And how long will that be?" Ragnell gazed at the splints holding his leg together.
"Yseult says perhaps a month."
Ragnell crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Which means it might well be two. Why should I wait so long?"
"I need to erect a stone in Gawain's honor."
Ragnell's expression was frosty. "I am perfectly able to commission a monument for my husband."
"I'm sure you are. But I made a promise to Gawain, years ago," Cador protested, opening his mind and his memories to her. "'A warrior's monument' he said. Please, let me do this for him."
Her expression softened. "Good, then we will be expecting you in the north when you are well enough to travel."
* * * *
Yseult did not want Cador making such a trip so soon after his injuries at the battle of Camlann, but she also understood that it couldn't be avoided.
Just as they were making plans to travel north, Ginevra announced that she'd decided to retire to a convent. It was early November, and they were still in Dyn Tagell, since Arthur's condition was not yet good enough to subject him to a longer journey. A hint of snow dusted the buildings the morning that Ginevra knelt next to the sickbed of her former husband to take her leave. Yseult stood back in the doorway, making her presence as unobtrusive as possible. Since the battle of Camlann, Arthur would not recover and would not die, seeming to exist in some kind of limbo where Yseult and Brangwyn could not help him.
"I am leaving now Arthur," Ginevra said, taking one of the hands that lay on the coverlet — hands of an old man. "I should have done this long ago: I would ask your forgiveness before I go."
"Certainly," Arthur said weakly. "There is not much else left for us now besides forgiveness, is there? I hope you will forgive me as well."
Ginevra swallowed. "There is nothing to forgive."
He shook his head more vigorously than Yseult had seen in all the time since the battle of Camlann. "I wronged you," Arthur said. "I understand that now. I wronged you by marrying you, but it did not help matters that I visited Indeg openly, not caring what you would think."
Yseult leaned back on the door frame, trying to disappear into the shadows. This might well be the most intimate moment Arthur and Ginevra had ever shared; it didn't seem right that she was there to witness it. But Ginevra was still regarded as a traitor, one step away from a prisoner of war — not worthy of privacy. Someone was set to watch her at all times.
An expression resembling a melancholy smile flitted across Ginevra's face. "That's true, Indeg didn't help." She leaned forward and kissed Arthur on the brow. "Thank you for your understanding. Farewell."
"Farewell."
Yseult stepped forward as Ginevra rose, and together they made their way to the dining area of the lower hall where the others waited.
"Are you quite sure you do not want to take your son with you and put him in Illtud's monastery school?" Yseult asked — one last time.
"I know you do not understand, Yseult," Ginevra said, her voice lifeless. "But I care not what becomes of Melou."
Yseult tried to imagine how she would have felt about Kustennin if Marcus had been his father — the man who had murdered Drystan, his own son. A babe was not responsible for his father's sins. On the other hand, would she have loved Kustennin as much and sacrificed as much for him if she'd thought him Marcus's child? Which he could still be ... Yseult liked to think she would not have loved Kustennin any differently, but of course she could never know for sure.
They entered the dining hall, and the men rose, bowing slightly at the waist. Bedwyr had recovered from the amputation of his forearm, but he remained in Dyn Tagell to see how Arthur got along — and to consult with Arthur and Kustennin on how to go about rebuilding a standing army for the defense of Britain. Arthur had made it clear that he thought Bedwyr and Kustennin should take over from him, although, as the battle of Camlann had shown, it was becoming increasingly difficult to persuade the kings of Britain to stand together — even with the threat of Cerdic not yet banished. Yes, the king of Vectis had fled the battlefield when he saw the tide turning in Arthur's favor, but they all knew he would continue to try and increase his territory when opportunity arose.
Aside from Bedwyr and Kustennin, the men at the table included Cador, Kurvenal, Judual, Illtud, Gildas, and Taliesin. Taliesin had arrived shortly after the battle of Camlann, and Yseult had commissioned him to write a poem about it. With Medraut dead, the stories Arthur's nephew had put about would probably soon be forgotten; nonetheless, it was time to begin their own work of attending to how recent events would be remembered. After all, what were Arthur's deeds without the stories to increase his fame?
Her gaze sought that of Cador. He had Riona balanced on one hip, but even as he tried to bow while holding a squirming toddler, the sight of him still choked her throat with joy. A part of her felt guilty at her own personal happiness, given the tragedy that had befallen her adopted home, but at the same time she knew she must enjoy it while it lasted. At any time, it could be taken from her again.
Illtud and his young acolyte Gildas had traveled together to Dyn Tagell. Il
ltud would be returning to his monastery with Ginevra — in the company of guards led by Bedwyr. While Illtud headed north, Gildas was to accompany Medraut's sons to Verulamium, where his mother Labiane had found refuge with a cousin. Medraut's former mother-in-law had agreed to take both boys, even though she had no blood ties to Melou. Originally, Arthur's sister Anna had wanted the boys with her in Armorica, but Hoel had threatened to disinherit Budic if she did. For Hoel, Medraut was a stain on the family honor which had to be eradicated.
"Is all ready?" Yseult asked Enid. Her mother-in-law had been in Dyn Tagell now for several weeks, bringing her granddaughter as soon as it was safe to travel. With Medraut's death, his rebellion too had died. Cerdic had shown up shortly thereafter in Venta, proclaiming himself King of the West Saxons, but for the time-being, he appeared content to remain in his new capital city. His losses at the battles of Caer Tamar and Camlann seemed to have been serious enough that he could not immediately return to warring on his neighbors.
Enid nodded. "Meals for the travelers are packed."
"Thank you."
"I was worried we might have to postpone the journey," Bedwyr said. "But my scouts tell me the roads are clear, despite the snow."
"That white stuff barely deserves the name," Cador threw in with a smile. He had limped over to stand beside her, and caught her hand now to give it a brief, affectionate squeeze. She felt a flood of gratitude. Emotion was a selfish thing, she had learned: those she loved most had survived the devastation, her husband, her son, her daughter, her cousin, and she felt all the luckier for that.
"Then let us have the horses made ready and say our farewells," Yseult said.
"Horses!" Riona said, clapping her hands and bouncing on her father's hip.
Cador laughed. "It looks as if we will have to accompany our guests to the stables on the mainland. Would you like to come too, Yseult?"
She nodded.
While she waited for a servant to bring her cloak, she turned to Brangwyn. "Please, promise me you will never enter a convent. Or retreat to the hills of the Feadh Re. Or any other method of retreating from life while you are still living."
Brangwyn shook her head, smiling. "Don't worry, I am neither Ginevra nor our mothers. You and I may be different in temperament and coloring, but I think in this we are very similar."
Yseult sighed. "At one time, my mother probably would have promised the same."
Her cousin shrugged. "If I ever reach the same level of disappointment, then I will just have to break my promise. It would not be the first time. And don't try to claim you never broke a promise either — everyone has, no matter what they might say."
Yseult took her cape from the servant and fastened it around her throat. "I will not try to test your theory, for fear you are right."
* * * *
It was nearly the Christian holiday of Christmas before Cador and Yseult made their way north to Ragnell's seat of Caer Camulodon. Arthur still lived, but he was not well enough to travel, and Cador had become impatient to pay respects to his friend's grave — and see to the erection of his monument. He was confident Arthur would continue to recover without Yseult to look after him; he still had Brangwyn at his side, after all.
Now they stood at the highest point of the hill-fort, with an impressive view of the town and the old Roman fort below, all peaceful in snowy white. In the south, the first snow had soon melted, but here it came past a man's ankle.
Ragnell had chosen a good spot for Gawain's resting place. The standing stone they erected would be visible for miles.
A monument worthy of a great warrior.
Epilogue
There is a grave for March, a grave for Gwythur,
A grave for Gwgawn Red-sword;
A mystery to the world, the grave of Arthur.
"Stanzas of the Graves," Black Book of Carmarthen (Anonymous)
Fighter that he was, Arthur lingered through the winter and on into the spring. Even when they removed from Dyn Tagell to Dyn Draithou, he survived the journey. Yseult and Cador were beginning to hope the Dux Bellorum might recover after all. But then when the peonies began to bloom in early summer, his condition took a turn for the worse.
When Arthur grew so weak he could barely eat a simple soup, they summoned Bedwyr, Ginevra, and Kustennin.
Although he had to cross the Sabrina estuary, Arthur's closest surviving companion Bedwyr arrived first, followed a day later by Kustennin. The last to arrive was a messenger from Ginevra, bringing her regrets that since she did not believe Arthur cared to see her again, she would not force the monks of Illtud's monastery to give up all their fighting men just to accompany her to her former husband's side.
One evening, just after dinner, as they were reluctantly discussing whether Arthur should be laid to rest on the summit of Ynys Witrin, where his spirit would have a view of much of Southwest Britain, the door of the hall blew open, bringing in a cool evening breeze.
"What is this?" Taliesin said, rising and stepping forward. Near him, Yseult too rose.
Nimue entered the hall of Dyn Draithou, the ghost of Myrddin trailing behind her.
Of course, Myrddin was not a ghost in the same sense that Drystan was. Yes, they had all presumed Myrddin dead, and perhaps he had been; nonetheless, he had a physical presence which all could see. But physical presence or not, he was still a ghost of the bard and druid and wise man he'd once been.
Myrddin was the first to speak. "Nimue has something to say to you all. Listen to her, please — I must save my strength. But this much I can tell you: Arthur must be brought away." And then the ancient magician let himself fall into a chair and closed his eyes.
All of them stared, unable to believe their eyes.
"Is it truly the famous Myrddin?" Taliesin asked, wonder in his voice.
Nimue nodded. "Myrddin was enjoying the sleep he deserved after decades spent in the service of Britain. But then we felt that Arthur was about to leave this world, and we set off to ensure that justice would be done to his spirit."
"Do you think we are incapable of that?" Bedwyr asked angrily. "It was you who stole Myrddin away from him."
Myrddin sat up a little straighter. "No one stole me. I left."
"You would give Arthur a fine warrior's grave," Nimue said. "Just as Gawain had. Just as Cai had."
"Just as so many others had," Cador murmured.
"Precisely. But you all know, Arthur is more than any of them."
No one contradicted her.
The ghostly Myrddin let his gaze sweep the room. "The spirit of Arthur must live on. If you give him a grave, people will not believe he can return."
"Yes," Taliesin said, nodding slowly.
Yseult glanced at the young bard. "You have your part to play too."
Nimue smiled. "It would be a good start."
"Come," Yseult said. "I will bring you to Arthur."
Yseult led the way to the house where she had been tending the Dux Bellorum. When they entered, they heard very inelegant snoring.
Myrddin shuffled forward, Nimue at his side. "Arthur," he said, his voice much more like that of the great druid they had once known. "You must awaken."
Arthur opened his eyes and stared up at his one-time advisor. "Myrddin."
"You must come with us now."
"But he cannot be moved," Bedwyr protested behind them.
The Dux Bellorum glanced at his old friend with a hint of a smile. "Oh, but I think I can. Humor me, Bedwyr."
Arthur turned back to Myrddin. With Nimue beside him, lending him her strength, Myrddin no longer seemed quite so ghostly.
Bedwyr strode across the room and began to rummage in Arthur's things. He pulled out the sword Ambrosius Aurelianus had given his nephew so many years ago and handed it to the Dux Bellorum.
"Don't forget this."
Arthur took the sword. "Let us go, then."
This time, no one protested.
A litter was prepared; a cart would jolt too much. There was no question of Myr
ddin helping carry it, but Taliesin volunteered to go along and take part of the burden.
It would make an excellent story someday.
They all accompanied the small party down the ramparts and to the road. Arthur smiled. "It is good to be going somewhere again." He twisted his head to look at Bedwyr and Kustennin. "Watch over Britain."
Goodbyes were said, and the four figures headed north, their pace slow, Myrddin with the shuffling gait of an old man, Nimue and Taliesin carrying the litter. Evening fog began to curl around their feet, teasing at the hem of Yseult's gown and dancing with Riona, who laughed in delight.
Cador looked at his wife. "Is this your doing?"
She shook her head, the hint of a smile on her lips. "Not this time."
He put his arm around her and hugged her to his side, suddenly desperate to feel her physical presence. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he turned her face up to kiss her tenderly.
When he glanced back at the departing figures, they were far away.
Those remaining watched until the distant party was no more than a hint of movement in the swirling mist. Then they turned and walked back to the safety of Dyn Draithou.
END
Author's Note
Much of the inspiration for Shadow of Stone comes from less well known Arthurian tales and traditions, in particular the earliest pseudo-historical references to Arthur such as those in Nennius and Geoffrey of Monmouth. A number of figures in my narrative were taken from the only contemporary document surviving from sixth century Britain, St. Gildas's On the Ruin and Conquest of Britain. Further characters have been drawn from saints' lives, royal genealogies, and Welsh narrative tradition.
In these versions of Arthur, Medraut (the Welsh name for Mordred) was Arthur's nephew, not his son, there is no mention of incest between Arthur and his sister (whose name was Anna), and it is Medraut with whom Arthur's wife elopes and not Lancelot (who does not exist in the body of Welsh Arthurian literature). It is this tradition I have mostly chosen to follow rather than the later one, which has been the basis for so many retellings already.
Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) Page 53