Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (16 page)

* * * *

The weather remained fair, and most of the funeral guests left the next day, taking advantage of dry roads and sunshine. Cador, too, was inclined to keep his visit short and return to Lindinis until Arthur moved against the Mount of Frogs. Battles had kept Cador from the planting, but he hoped to be home for at least part of the harvest before going to war again.

With departure in mind, he sought out Arthur in the long hall of Celliwig, a structure reminiscent of Britain's tribal days, before the arrival of the Romans. As Cador entered the hall, Arthur was bending over a map. Beside him, Arthur's cousin Modrun sat with her elbows on the table, gazing where he pointed. Myrddin too was there; Gwythyr's death was important enough for Arthur's old advisor to leave Nimue's side.

"Good morning Arthur, Myrddin, Modrun. I hope I am not interrupting anything?" Cador said by way of greeting.

Arthur shook his head. "Actually, we were just about to send for you."

"What is it?" he asked, joining them. A map of Dumnonia was spread out on the table: Cerniw on the tip of the peninsula, and Dortrig, Cador's patrimony, on the eastern border.

Arthur and his cousin Modrun exchanged a look Cador couldn't interpret. "Modrun, would you find Yseult for us?"

She nodded and rose. Cador watched her leave, wondering why the atmosphere suddenly felt so secretive.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" Arthur asked.

"Do I need it?"

"Perhaps."

"Then please."

Myrddin poured a glass of white wine from a ceramic jug and handed it to Cador. Silently, the three of them toasted each other and drank.

Arthur put his goblet down on the table and pointed to the areas around Celliwig, Aquae Sulis, and Dimilioc on the map. "The losses to the kingdoms of Dumnonia have been heavy."

Myrddin ticked them off on his fingers. "Gwythyr, Morfael, Gurles."

"We do not yet know whether Gurles is dead," Cador said.

"He is nonetheless a loss," Myrddin ground out. Obviously he still cared about the fate of Britain, although he had largely abandoned Arthur for Nimue.

Cador turned to Arthur. "Will you be moving here to Celliwig when these wars are over?"

Arthur shook his head. "It's not central enough. As long as I am Dux Bellorum, I need to maintain my military headquarters in Caer Leon. I cannot simultaneously take on the role of regional king in Celliwig."

"Then you will assign a deputy?"

"Yes, until Loholt can take over as king of Cerniw."

The door opened and Yseult and Modrun entered. Yseult gave Cador a curious look, but all he could do was shrug.

She turned to the Dux Bellorum. "You summoned me, Arthur?"

"I did." He indicated the map. "The kingdoms of Dumnonia have paid a high price this summer beating back the invaders from the north. You are two of the strongest leaders left in the southwest. Not only Gwythyr here in Celliwig —" — he tapped the location on the map and then traced an imaginary route with his finger —"— also your general Gurles who turned traitor —" — here the finger moved up to the northeast to rest on Aquae Sulis —"— as well as Morfael, ruler of Glastenning."

Yseult helped herself to a glass of wine. "Yes. And Kustennin is a very young king yet, a difficult position with so few regional kings left to support him."

"Kustennin shows great promise as a warrior," Arthur said. "His talent for strategy is far beyond his years and experience. Besides, he has a very able mother."

Yseult smiled. "Thank you."

Arthur locked his hands behind his back and turned to Cador. "But that does not address the overarching problem of the present power vacuum in Dumnonia. I realize this is painful for you, cousin, but like Morfael, you, too, are without an heir."

Cador winced, glancing away. "There are many potential kings in my extended kinship group. You, for example."

Myrddin set down his glass of wine. "Come, Cador. You know that is no solution. Arthur is twenty years older than you."

"What is this all about?" Yseult asked.

Modrun sighed. "Please, Yseult, we are getting to that."

Cador saw Yseult tense up — she had sensed something, and she didn't like it.

"Good," Arthur said, rising. "Let us get to the point. I think we can all agree that the loss of three sub-kings within the space of a few months could seriously destabilize Dumnonia."

Yseult and Cador both nodded.

"On the other hand, if you examine the major kingdoms of Britain, it is obvious that too
many
petty kings can have an equally destabilizing effect on a region. Kingdoms with a strong ruler such as Venedotia, Demetia, and Powys are much less unsettled than regions like Buellt and Elmet."

"What does that have to do with the present situation in Dumnonia, with us?" Cador asked.

Arthur exchanged a quick look with Modrun and Myrddin before facing them. "We have a proposal to make. The two of you could consolidate your power, create a ruling family in Dumnonia like that of Vortigern's descendents in Powys. If you were to marry, it would be logical for Cador to make Kustennin his heir. We would have the beginnings of a powerful dynasty in the south."

Cador felt as if a capricious giant had taken him by the chest and squeezed, just to see how long he could survive without breathing. He had dreamed of marrying Yseult, but not like this. He was reminded of what Medraut had said about his uncle: that Arthur saw marriage as little more than an alliance, a political proposition. Perhaps that had once been different — from the stories Cador had heard, Arthur was devastated after the death of his first wife — but right now he was proving his nephew's words true.

Cador glanced over at Yseult, hoping that in the shock of Arthur's suggestion he had not dropped his mental guard and allowed her to see into his mind. She was blinking in surprise, her hands tight on the armrests of her chair. Slowly her head swung around and her gaze locked with his.

The silence in the hall stretched out. Finally Yseult took pity on them all and broke it. "As you know, I never intended to marry again."

She was still gazing at Cador; he felt as if the words were directed exclusively at him.

"Yes, and I respect that," Arthur said. Yseult turned back to face the Dux Bellorum. "I have no authority to command you to do as we suggest. All I ask now is that you not reject the idea out of hand. The two of you have been good friends for some time, I know. It was to Dyn Draithou you went for sanctuary when you fled Marcus, was it not?"

Yseult nodded.

"Friendship is a much better basis for marriage than many people have," Modrun threw in. "And it would strengthen your power base, strengthen Dumnonia as a whole. With only one remaining sub-king, the alliance would make Dumnonia not only the largest but also one of the most powerful kingdoms in Britain."

Cador smiled to himself. Power was the wrong carrot to use on him. But what about Yseult? The prospect of Kustennin eventually becoming the most powerful ruler in Britain might well sway her. For years, she had remained with Marcus so as not to endanger Kustennin's heritage and brand him a bastard. Power was important to Yseult, more important than it was to Cador.

"Would you have any objections to such a match, Cador?" Arthur asked.

Only that it is what I have dreamt of since I started dreaming of such things. Only that if Yseult were my wife, she might no longer be my friend. Only that she has a lover who is also my friend. Only that having a dream so close within my reach scares me more than an army of Saxons on the other side of a valley
.

"No," he said. "The thought has crossed my mind that Kustennin would be the best choice as my heir — if it were possible. But I have no interest in pressuring Yseult into a marriage she does not want."

"Think on it," Arthur said, rolling up the map. "And now I suspect the two of you may want to discuss the idea alone. Myrddin, Modrun?"

The Queen of Gower turned to Yseult, practically ignoring Cador. He wasn't offended — he knew that a special knowledge connected the two queens. "I cannot claim that my instinct is always right in these matters," Modrun said. "But I suspect the two of you could be happy together."

"Perhaps even happier than most," Myrddin said with a smile.

With that, the Dux Bellorum and his advisors departed, leaving Cador and Yseult to their silence and their thoughts. His gaze caught on one of the ceremonial swords decorating the walls of the hall, a mosaic of bright stones in its hilt. As stunning and useless as Arthur's suggestion. Yseult would never agree to marry him, he knew.

"I hardly know what to say," he murmured when the silence had gone on long enough.

She sighed. "If it's any comfort, neither do I."

Rising, Cador held out his hand. "Shall we walk?"

She rose, and he pulled her hand through the crook of his elbow. Together, they left the large wooden hall and wandered out of the ramparts through the eastern entrance. To the south, the Camel river was visible, and to the east its tributary the Camlann. Trees in shades of orange, red, yellow, brown, and even purple lined the wooded river valleys, mistily lit by the late summer sun. The air still smelled wet from the last rain, wet and full of fertile decay.

They stopped and gazed towards the valley together. "What should we do?" Cador asked. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to voice the lie that he had no interest in the proposed marriage.

She looked at him. She was a tall woman, and they were almost eye to eye. "I don't know. Arthur's proposal has merit, but as you know, I never thought to marry again." She gave his forearm a brief squeeze. "Besides, I would not want to cheat you — I have never stopped loving Drystan."

Cador shrugged. "Nor have I. I know it is not the same, but Drystan was easy to love."

"Yes, he was." Yseult bowed her head and pressed the thumb and forefinger of her free hand to her eyes. "Ah, Cador. It has been so many years, but he is still there, in my mind, in my heart, in my life. I hear his voice, feel his touch, catch his scent in memory. I talk to him as if he were still alive, tell him of my trials with Kustennin, ask his advice in the running of Isca and Lansyen, want to know his opinion on the rebuilding of Dyn Tagell. Would you really want such a wife?"

Yes, if you would have me.
Hopefully he had guarded those thoughts from her as well.

He should tell her right now that he had no interest in a marriage with her. What chance did he have against Drystan's ghost? Or the very large presence of the living Gawain — whom she had not yet mentioned?

The words refused to cross his lips.

"Perhaps we should think on it," he said instead. "This is not something we can decide in the space of an afternoon walk. As you said, Arthur's suggestion has merit, and it is true that we have been friends almost as long as we have known each other. But it is not as if we were choosing apples at market."

She nodded, the hint of a thoughtful frown creasing her high forehead. "Of course."

Cador drew in a quick breath at the sight. Yseult was in her mid-thirties now, and the faint wrinkles around her eyes and on her forehead were not to be overlooked, even when she didn't frown. When Cador first met her, he was no more than a youth and she barely a young woman, her skin without blemish or line, married to a man three times her age. Then, her beauty had been flawless, the pain and strength in her light, bright eyes enough to break any man's heart. Now there were new scars on her jaw and cheek from her near miss with death at the battle for Dyn Tagell, in addition to the crow's feet around her eyes, but she had earned those lines and scars, every one. No, she was no longer flawless, but the little flaws made her beauty more interesting somehow — to Cador at least.

He stopped and faced her. The late summer sun touched her white-blond hair with gold and bronze, and beyond, the trees lining the Camlann River were bright with the oranges and yellows of fall. His heart squeezed tight at the beauty of the moment, despite its pain. "There is one thing I would still ask you."

"Yes?"

"What of Gawain?"

She drew in a deep breath. "Ah yes, Gawain. That is a problem." She stepped back and turned away, and Cador's faint hopes grew even fainter.

He had to ask. "Do you love him?"

Yseult was silent for mere moments, but Cador could feel his palms break out in a sweat; it was a good thing she had moved away from him.

She looked up from the fascinating sight of the mud at her feet. "Love? I don't know if I can ever love a man again. Gawain pleases me, but I never considered the idea of marrying him. I
am
considering the idea of marrying you."

She could hardly have done or said anything that would have left him as dry-mouthed and stupid unless she had flung herself into his arms and declared she was his.

In that moment, he realized that he wanted this to happen, wanted her to decide in favor of this politically expedient marriage, wanted to share bed and board with her, his hopes and worries, his days and his nights — despite the fact that she still loved Drystan.

Perhaps someday she would come to love him a little too. Or perhaps not. Either way, they would be together.