Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (27 page)

Gawain hoped he fell somewhere between the two extremes represented by his surviving brothers. He was well aware that in the last few months he had tended more towards Gaheris's view of the world than Gareth's.

Which was why he had welcomed the grueling journey, the exertion and exhaustion that had him concentrating more on physical discomfort than the emotional pain that would not leave him, the feeling of rejection and anger at Yseult's betrayal — how she had so readily agreed to Arthur's suggestion to marry Cador, when it was well known the length and breadth of Britain that she had no intention of marrying again.

But while the freezing rain might have been a welcome distraction at first, now he just wanted it to stop. Perhaps losing one's patrimony was not such a bad thing if it meant escaping from this weather. As he pondered the kingdom that might have been his if not for his loyalty to Arthur, the cold, thick, sleeting mist began to turn to snow. Gawain found himself smiling.

Ceincaled snorted and shook his head, and Gawain leaned forward to stroke the neck of his favorite stallion. "There, boy. Hopefully we won't have to spend much time in this irritating white stuff."

The horse snorted again, louder this time, obviously agreeing.

Ragnell's family held a hill-fort known as Caer Camulodon on the old Roman road halfway between Deva and Eburacum. Situated on the border between Elmet and Rheged on the main road, strategically Caer Camulodon was of immense importance. Although at the moment, the road did not strike Gawain as anything resembling "main." In this region of small kingdoms, no one was powerful enough or responsible enough to be bothered with the maintenance of a paved road, and rather than being flat and even, for long stretches, it was full of such an impassible combination of stone and rainwater and muck, they had to ride next to the old Roman road rather than on it, where a muddy, alternate path had developed.

It felt strange to be heading in the direction of his former home again. Gawain had not been in this part of Britain since he had ridden with Arthur against the rebel kings in Din Eidyn — one of whom had been Lot, Gawain's own father. Over ten years ago now. Gawain should have been a king in this region himself, either he or one of his brothers. Instead, the kinship group had elected one of their cousins king.

As they began to climb the Pennine Mountains, Pabius rode abreast of him, cutting short Gawain's reflections on the past. "On the other side of the mountains, there is a monastery where your men can leave their war horses and find garments appropriate for the humble retinue of a priest. From there, it is perhaps another five miles to Caer Camulodon."

Gawain grimaced. "I hope the monastery boasts mules that are both brave as well as strong."

"I do not doubt it, my lord," Pabius said with a smile.

Gawain patted Ceincaled's smooth hide. "I will miss you, true companion."

Ceincaled tossed his head, making Gawain smile.

"One other thing, Lord Gawain," the priest said. "In order to gain some time, it occurred to me that we could claim Ragnell's cousin could not come until after the Christmas holidays, which would also give Ragnell time to prepare a wedding feast. Hopefully her betrothed will not object to a celebration for the villagers on such a joyful occasion."

"I see you still have the mind of a strategist," Gawain said with a chuckle.

Pabius shrugged. "I may be a king's son and a trained warrior, but I was never a military strategist. I have always, however, had a very active imagination."

"Imagination is a rare but brilliant characteristic in a war leader," Gawain said, thinking of the way Arthur seemed to be able to imagine the course of a battle even before the enemy had taken the positions he anticipated. "Perhaps you missed your true calling."

"No, I don't think so," Pabius said. "You see, I have no stomach for killing other men, even when they are the enemy."

* * * *

Gawain found it hard to believe how uncomfortable he felt on the back of a mule, stripped of all the signs of his identity as warrior other than a short sword strapped close to his body, hidden beneath the folds of his monk's robes — where he could barely reach it if threatened. Clothed from head to foot in the garments of a Christian holy man, Gawain felt naked, not himself, ripped of everything that made him who he was. He wondered what it meant, this reaction to being without the physical trappings of his life, his identity as one of Arthur's most respected warriors. How much of himself was just the weapons and the armor he wore?

Hopefully they would be able to be help Ragnell even without such trappings.

When they came out of the Elmet forest on the eastern side of the mountains, the hill-fort of Caer Camulodon was clearly visible. Below, stretched between the hill-fort and the ruined Roman fort, was a straggling village of farms, houses and other buildings, including a marketplace, a blacksmith, an inn, and a church.

They stopped at the church first; Pabius wanted to speak with the village priest. When he returned to their party, his expression was grim. "It is as I suspected — the hill-fort has been taken by a strange band of warriors. Ragnell's brothers and father are all dead. She has been kept alive to legitimize the kingship of the outlaw leader who killed her family. On Ragnell's instruction, the priest here claimed he had no authority to perform the holy rite of marriage, which is why I was sent for."

Gawain nodded shortly. "She sounds like a clever woman. I will send one of my men to fetch backup." He glanced at the wide hill-fort of Caer Camulodon. "Even with several of us on the inside, it will not be easy to take back."

Pabius's gaze followed his. "Hopefully our lies will buy us enough time."

* * * *

The banners now flying above the walls of the hill-fort were without device, simple flags of shimmering green. Gawain and Pabius and the rest of their company rode through gates thrown open in welcome once Pabius announced them. A powerful warrior in a tunic of the same shimmering green emerged from the main hall, a veiled woman on his arm, her skirts swaying with lithe grace as she walked. At least Gawain was not so far gone with disappointed love that he could not appreciate a shapely figure.

The pair stopped in front of them, and the warrior in green spoke in accents of the north that brought back memories of Gawain's youth. "Well met, Father Pabius. But I do not see my future bride's cousin among your number."

Pabius clambered down from his mule, the rest of them following suit. "She is detained. She has a Christmas wedding to attend in Glevum, but she sends word that she will come to Caer Camulodon as soon as the festivities are over." Pabius turned to Ragnell. "I hope you will be able to delay your own ceremony long enough to have your loved ones here to witness it."

"Of course," she said quickly — presumably before her "betrothed" could protest. Then Ragnell threw back her veil, and Gawain saw why she affected such an unusual headdress — more than half of her face was disfigured with what looked like burns, the skin puckered and discolored, her features misshapen and monstrous, one eye strangely pale and dead.

Pabius drew in a shocked breath. "Ragnell! What happened to you?"

She shrugged. "An accident some years ago. I do not like to speak of it."

Pabius turned back to the warrior in green, obviously uncomfortable. "Before the wedding, I will also need your name and place of birth for the church records, my lord ... "

There was a pause. "Bertilak," the new lord of the hill-fort said.

"Lord Bertilak," Pabius said, not pressing him about his place of birth. "We have a long, cold journey behind us and we crave your hospitality."

The outlaw turned lord obviously did not have much practice in the formalities of kingship. Ragnell stepped forward. "Please forgive us in being remiss, Pabius. A house has been prepared for you and the rest of your retinue, and I will arrange for refreshment immediately. This way, please."

She turned and led them through buildings of wood and stone, populated by warriors in green and women and servants with expressions of dread on their faces. Gawain watched her swaying walk, thinking what a pity it was that her face was so disfigured. At a small house with a thatched roof, she stopped and pushed open the door, stepping aside to allow them to enter ahead of her.

"I am glad you received my message," she said after the door had swung shut behind them. "Thank you for coming."

Pabius dropped his saddlebags on the packed earth. "I am glad you sent for me; I am only sorry I could not be here sooner. Let me introduce you to the humble brethren who accompanied me on my journey."

Gawain had to admire Pabius's talent for strategic prevarication and misdirection. His men were no less clever; as Pabius said their names, they knelt briefly in front of Ragnell, offering her a nonexistent sword before rising again.

"And Brother Gaw," Pabius said. Gawain too knelt as his men had before him, while Pabius added under his breath so that only she could hear: "Wain."

Ragnell's good eye widened, and she clenched her hands in front of her waist. "I am honored that you were all willing to accompany Father Pabius on my behalf."

Gawain rose. "It is we who are honored to be of service, Lady."

She gazed at him with that face, mostly ravaged and still partly beautiful, and he had an odd moment in which the image shifted in his mind's eye, completing the beauty and taking his breath away.

"I must go to the kitchens now and see to beer and wine and bread," she said, hurrying out of the guest house.

"Excuse me," they heard her say immediately after the door closed behind her — obviously one of Bertilak's men had been waiting outside. "You do not have to protect me all the time. They are men of God."

"Certainly, Lady Ragnell."

Gawain and the others looked at each other, and there was no need to speak what they all knew: they would have to tread very carefully.

* * * *

Gawain wandered the perimeter of the hill-fort, trying to look humble — and examining the defenses at the same time. The weather was still cold, but it was sunnier today, less gray and dismal, with no sign of sleet. He gazed at the earthworks and the green clad warriors posted at regular intervals. Were there any weaknesses they could use to their advantage? How had Bertilak taken the hill-fort in the first place? It was an impressive site, high and wide, with a series of ditches and ramparts on the steep slopes that would make it fairly easy to defend. On the other hand, the size of the flat hilltop would require a large warband to fight off attack — perhaps Ragnell's father had not had enough men at his disposal? One of the things they would have to do while here would be to count the fighting men in Bertilak's service; if they could come up with a good estimate, they would have a better idea of how many men would be necessary to retake Caer Camulodon.

If only there were a way to speak with Ragnell in private; perhaps she remembered something of how the battle had progressed and how the attackers had won.

"Brother Gaw."

Gawain turned, wondering if she had some of the same magic as Yseult — it was as if she had read his mind.

He bowed his head as he thought a priest would. "Lady Ragnell. How is it that none of Bertilak's men are following you now?"

She threw back her veils and laughed, a bright, pleasant sound, surprising given her recent trials. "They think me in the kitchens, where I belong. But I slipped out. I wanted to speak with you."

"And I with you, Lady."

She gave him a smile, an odd-looking expression in the middle of her ruined face, and it struck him that her mouth was unharmed, the lips full and red. The destruction of her beauty passed from her right jawbone diagonally across her features, puckering and discoloring the skin from cheek to forehead, but leaving her lips untouched. Even her left profile showed traces of ravished skin, but her lips had somehow escaped the results of the accident.

"What would the great Lord Gawain want with such a one as me?" she murmured, yanking him out of the contemplation of the landscape of her face.

He attempted another obeisance appropriate for a monk. "I was hoping you would be able to tell me something of the battle so that I might understand how Bertilak was able to take this place," he whispered.

"Would you care to accompany me back to the kitchens, Brother Gaw?" she said, her voice at a natural volume.

"Certainly, Lady Ragnell," Gawain said.

As they ambled towards the kitchen buildings, Ragnell indicated a dip in the defensive earthworks that Gawain had not yet noticed. "The main attack was from the south. They must have scouted the hill-fort thoroughly before they attacked, and most likely they knew that my brothers were both ill."

"How many men did your father have?"

"Just after harvest and before snow?" she asked in return. "Well under a hundred. War is not normally conducted in winter — there is too little plunder on the road and too great a chance one's own troops will not survive the adventure."

"That may be precisely what Bertilak was counting on," Gawain murmured. "A hill-fort in its peaceful winter sleep."

Ragnell shrugged. "I still think he knew about the puking sickness that had been plaguing us and the surrounding villages and decided to take advantage of it. It was not life-threatening, except for the very old and the very young, but it put a swath of warriors besides my brothers in their beds rather than on the ramparts."