Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (21 page)

He rose and went to the tent door. Rain had been constant the last few days, making the marsh even more impassable. And their goal — the hill there, jutting above the plain — was so close. Depending on what kind of stores the enemy had, it might well be Christmas before this was over.

It was exceedingly difficult to hold a siege in a swamp.

Cador took up his hooded cape, pulled it over his shoulders, and headed in the direction of the awning in front of Arthur's tent. The same old discussion of what they could do to break the siege was still going on when he joined Arthur's companions.

"Your mother sends her love," Cador said as slipped in next to Kustennin.

"Thank you."

Gazing across the marshes to the Mount of Frogs, Cador listened with half an ear to the rehashed plans for how to get close enough to do any damage. They had already tried building siege engines with a long enough reach (unsuccessful — the missiles all plopped somewhere at the foot of the hill); constructing a road across the swamp (they couldn't get close enough to complete it before Pictish archers started picking off their workers); and sneaking through the marsh by night (not even the guides could find the way in the dark.)

He turned away from the depressing sight of the Mount and sat down on a stump serving as a chair.

"When we have sent the sons of Caw back to their cold wastelands —" Anir was saying.

"When?" Bedwyr interrupted. "It might be better to ask 'if.' It would be good to remember that a little over a generation ago, Erainn invaders took a number of seats in Demetia and were never driven out again."

"Now they are more British than many who have been here longer," Cador said, nodding towards Aircol.

"That may be true," Aircol said. "But I hope no one is suggesting we allow these Pict raiders to remain?"

"No, of course not," Kustennin threw in. "But we haven't made much progress retaking the Mount of Frogs. Simply assuming we'll drive them out doesn't get us any farther."

"What do you suggest?" Arthur asked.

All eyes turned to Kustennin, and Cador felt for his foster son, hoping he could come up with an answer that would not lower him in Arthur's esteem.

Kustennin's eyes met his, and he nodded shortly, as if they had agreed on something. Cador felt confused.

"What if we were to drain the marshes?" Kustennin suggested.

The tent went silent. Obviously, no one knew how to respond to such a strange proposition.

Kustennin turned back to Cador. "In the years I was in fosterage with you, I have often seen the drainage system you used when one of your fields was flooded. What if we were to employ that here?"

Cador blinked. "Tile drainage is the system I use. It's an old Roman method I learned from my father's overseer. But it's for flooded fields, not swamps."

"Do you not think it could work on marshes like this?"

"Perhaps, for a time. But that is a long-term undertaking. And it has no chance of success while it continues raining."

"The rain will eventually stop," Arthur said.

"That doesn't matter. For tile drainage we would have to install a system below the swamp." Cador thought quickly. "In flooded areas, open ditches can also be used to drain a field. But I have no idea if we would have any chance of success in these marshes."

Bedwyr crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Anything is better than sitting in our tents and twiddling our thumbs."

Around him, the men were nodding and murmuring agreement. And suddenly Cador found his experience as farmer king of primary importance in the army of Britain.

* * * *

Cador to Yseult, greetings.

Thank you for your last missive. Isca meets with my approval for our wedding. It is larger than Durnovaria, and thus better able to accommodate guests.

Forgive me for not writing sooner, but I have been given a new position in Arthur's army, Master of Ditches. Your son made an unusual suggestion at a recent meeting — that we attempt to drain the swamps around the Mount of Frogs in order to be able to move our army forward within striking distance. Having the most experience with the draining of fields, I have been assigned to attempt this unlikely feat. In the last week, I've been planning where trenches may best help drain the swamp, but only yesterday did I first send men out with shovels to start digging — I refused to begin any such action until we had at least two days without rain. Strangely enough, as little as I think it likely to succeed, the attempt itself makes me more hopeful. At least we are doing something again.

From the Mount of Frogs, it must look as if we are creating moats around the hill-fort so far away they cannot do anyone any good. That too raises my hopes, as it does many of those digging in the mud at my command. (That is a definite advantage of being Master of Ditches — I am not expected to wade in the muck myself, I must only oversee other men doing so.)

Pray to whichever gods might listen to you that the weather remains dry for the next few weeks — preferably months. Even if our drainage operation works, I suspect it will take us at least until your Samhain to see any progress.

Please go ahead and make whatever arrangements for our marriage you deem appropriate. I am sure I will be happy with whatever you decide.

I hope this letter finds you well.

Your Cador

Yseult to Cador, greetings.

Draining the swamps around the Mount of Frogs — I do not envy you. It sounds nearly impossible to manage. Are you having any success? Will you not starve the Picts out before the land is drained?

I wrote Illtud to ask him if he would consider performing the marriage ceremony, and he has agreed. That is a great relief to me, given my difficulties with many Christian priests.

For the sake of your project and quick success in driving the enemy out of the Mount of Frogs, I hope the recent dry weather continues. If there is anything I can send to you and Kustennin for your comfort, let me know.

Your Yseult

Cador to Yseult, greetings.

With so many men who can be put to work, we are making much more rapid progress on the drainage system than I would have expected. We have completed a large ditch almost as deep as a man on two sides of the mount and begun a series of smaller ditches sloping down to the deeper one. Already our "moat" is beginning to fill. Arthur's hope is that we can drain land close enough to the hill-fort to be able to move within range of the siege engines. An attack with catapults could greatly increase our chances of ending this siege.

I am glad to hear that Illtud has agreed to perform the ceremony. But if for any reason you have second thoughts about this marriage, please let me know. It is not too late to call it off.

I hope all is well in Dyn Tagell and you are enjoying these sunny autumn days in a more amusing way than digging in the mud.

Your Cador

* * * *

It was the beginning of November before the marshes were drained close enough to the Mount of Frogs for them to move the siege engines forward. And just in time too — the sky was heavy with clouds. If it did not rain today, it would rain tomorrow.

It was time to attack.

Bedwyr leaned on the front pommels of his saddle, watching the catapults launch burning pitch at the wood and earthwork ramparts above, and rubbed his clean-shaven chin with one hand. "Very impressive, Farmer King. I never thought we could achieve so much so quickly."

Cador watched the missiles hit and catch. "Nor did I."

Arthur rode to the front of their troops. On the hill behind him, some of the wooden ramparts were burning brightly, set on fire by the flaming missiles. His expression was stern as he calmed a dancing Llamrei. The original Llamrei was long dead, of course, but Arthur had given the black mare who'd taken the place of the gray the same name. Just as he had named his new hound Cabal when the old one had died.

Just as he had chosen a young Dumnonian-Roman
Ginevra
to replace his first wife, the Rheged princess
Gwenhwyfar
.

Arthur was a man who liked things to proceed in the ways they always had.

"Yder knows these parts, and he and Gawain are leading a force through the swamp on the opposite side of the hill-fort from our siege engines," Arthur called out. "At the same time, Cai, Bedwyr and I will lead a force of riders on the drained side, while Cador and Medraut continue the barrage with the siege engines. Come men, it is time to take back our beacon!"

A cheer went up. "Britannia patria!" came the old war cry from hundreds of throats — even if there was little of Britannia left to defend. The idea of a united Britain was still behind the rallying cry Arthur had inherited from Ambrosius.

Cador and Medraut watched as British troops galloped across the drained swamp. Here and there a horse stumbled, but on the whole Cador was amazed at how well the plan had worked.

"Congratulations," Medraut said. "You are now officially a military genius."

For a moment, Cador didn't know how to respond to the insulting tone of the compliment. Had Medraut found out about the incident with Cwylli? No, that wasn't possible. Medraut would not stop at envious comments if that were the case.

"Oh, I only provided the farming expertise," Cador said lightly, trying to avoid any confrontation with the man who had only recently saved Arthur's life. "It was Kustennin who came up with the idea. And the weather played along."

"Yes, it did, didn't it?" Medraut said, his tone more non-committal this time. Together, they oversaw the details of warriors reloading the catapults. "So how comes it that you are here lighting pitch rather than riding with Gawain to battle?" Medraut asked.

Cador winced. Did Medraut always find a man's weakest spots?

"Congratulations, by the way, for stealing the Ice Queen away from him," Medraut added. "Gawain is too used to getting everything he wants."

"I would not see it that way," Cador said. "He was denied his patrimony, after all."

"Just as Cwylli has been denied her inheritance. But you have to admit, Gawain is one of Arthur's favorites."

"How are Cwylli and your new son?" Cador asked to steer the conversation in another direction.

"I hear they are well — I have yet to see Melehan. Arthur could have let me go to Caer Leon instead of sending me here when he refused to allow me to attend Gwythyr's funeral."

Cador shrugged and gave up, deciding to concentrate on the missiles for the catapults.

* * * *

Cador to Yseult, greetings.

As I'm sure you have heard by now, the draining of the marshes was successful, and we have retaken the Mount of Frogs.

I am writing you this from Lindinis. It is good to be back in the villa. Although I missed the harvest, there is still much to do to prepare for winter. The hay is dried, baled, and stored, and now that we know how much there is and how many animals can be fed through the cold months, the herds must be sorted and hogs (and perhaps some sheep) slaughtered.

My mother and I would like to extend an invitation to you to spend the Christmas season with us in Lindinis. That would also give the two of us the opportunity to plan our wedding in more detail.

I hope this letter finds you well and enjoying the company of your cousin Brangwyn.

Your Cador

Yseult lowered the letter with a shrug. For some reason, she had expected Cador to come to her first when the last Pict invaders were finally defeated. How very vain of her. Of course he had gone home to his villa rather than hurrying here to see her. Betrothed they might be, but lovers they were not.

At least she knew where she stood with him, even if she could not read his mind. She would go to Lindinis for the Midwinter holidays, plan her politically expedient marriage, and be an exemplary guest. All very calm and practical, just as she wanted.

Then why did she feel a mild disappointment?

* * * *

At first, Gildas prayed daily that his sister would fulfill her promise and come to take him away. When the news arrived that the Mount of Frogs had been retaken and the Picts driven out of Dumnonia, Gildas was sure his release would be soon.

But Cwylli did not come.

He tried not to be resentful, tried to keep in mind that she had a new baby to think about. It was logical that her own child took precedence over her brother.

It was nearly Christmas when visitors for him were finally announced. By that time, it had been so long, Gildas had almost given up. But his sister had come after all, with a whole retinue, including her husband and a nurse for the baby.

They met in the common room. When Gildas entered, Cwylli handed the baby to the nurse and took him in her arms. "It is good to see you again, little brother!"

"And you, Cwylli."

Behind Cwylli, Medraut stepped forward, hand extended. "Hello again, lad. I hope you are well."

Gildas took his brother-in-law's hand, and to his surprise, Medraut pulled him into a hard embrace.

"Thank you for coming," Gildas said when his brother-in-law released him.