Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (35 page)

"I don't want to hear it," he said, cutting her off.

The line of her mouth grew stubborn, and he almost regretted the words. "Well, even if you don't want to listen to me, please don't forget to be here for the dinner with the tenant farmers."

"I won't." With that, he left the hall again, not knowing where he would go.

Lansyen was a dismal place, when it came down to it, small and without much luxury, aside from a few small details such as the elaborate wall hangings. Cador would be glad to be back in his villa outside of Lindinis. Even the vast, windy, hill-fort of Dyn Draithou would be better than this. But Yseult had a special fondness for the people of this place — and for Drystan's nearby grave as well, he was sure, although she never spoke of it.

Suddenly Cador was gripped by the need to visit his cousin's standing stone. Unfortunately, there wouldn't be enough time before the priest's blessing and the gifts and the Easter dinner, rituals which he could hardly miss.

Tomorrow; he would visit the stone and Drystan's grave tomorrow.

Outside the earthen ramparts, the wind ripped at his cloak, and he gathered the material tight in his fist. Gazing towards the River Voliba, the unthinkable teased at the corners of his mind. Perhaps he no longer wanted to try and win Yseult's heart.

It was a strange thought after his long habit of loving her. Of course, while he was married to Terrwyn, he had been convinced that he was over his youthful infatuation. He and Terrwyn had shared a quiet, soothing love, rich enough to make him imagine he no longer had feelings for Yseult. Yes, on some level he had deceived himself, but at the same time, his love for Terrwyn had been sincere — and a comfort of a winter's night.

Now he just felt empty.

* * * *

When he returned from his walk, his cheeks tingling from the brisk spring wind, the tenant farmers were already being admitted through the gate of the hill-fort, baskets of brightly painted eggs on their arms.

Talek hailed him. "Greetings, Lord! You are almost late to your own feast!"

Cador forced himself to give the laugh that would be expected of him. "It turned out to be such a fine spring day, I had to take advantage of it before being cooped up in the hill-fort for the rest of the afternoon."

"Very wise." The other man fished a red egg out of the basket his wife carried and held it out to Cador. "Here, my lord, an egg for luck. And on this occasion, may I say how glad we all are that our lady Yseult has found such a fine king, worthy of taking the place at her side?"

Talek's wife nodded enthusiastically, and Cador could feel himself blushing. It was embarrassing to receive such praise from Yseult's people, just when he had reached the conclusion that he no longer cared to remain with her.

But such reflections were cut short when he was caught up by the crowd and swept into the hill-fort. Like a wave bringing him ashore, the villagers and peasants and laborers deposited him next to Yseult in front of the hall, where she was waiting to welcome their guests.

Yseult attempted a smile. "I am glad to see you could come."

Cador bowed. "At your service, Lady Wife."

She wasn't happy at the greeting, he could see, but she said nothing.

Together, they led the way into the hall and the tables on either side of the central hearth. "Seat yourselves and share the bounty of Lansyen!" Yseult called out over the festive noise of the crowd.

Cador sat down with his wife at the upper table and watched as the residents of Lansyen and Voliba took places at the tables around the room, jostling and laughing. The smell of roast boar filled the hall, along with other scents that surely had more mouths watering than just his. If his nose told him true, pepper, lovage, wine, and garum were in the sauce to be served with the meat. In one corner, a minstrel had taken up his harp and began to sing jolly tunes while moving among the guests.

It should have been an excellent party — except for the fact that he was sitting next to a woman he feared he might have forgotten how to love.

* * * *

Yseult gazed at the Easter fire, remembering the bonfire lit by Patraic on the Hill of Slane so many years ago. Then, it had seemed nothing more than sacrilege. Now, she was able to see that Patraic's daring act had been an acknowledgment of the power of the Old Ways, the beliefs that lived by the cycle of the seasons rather than just the cycle of one life. For her, Easter had become a celebration of spring and fertility, and that was how the people of Dumnonia regarded it as well, no matter which god or gods they prayed to. After all, not only was the priest present, the queen was too, the Kingmaker — a concept still vaguely remembered here in Britain, even if laws and customs had changed.

Normally, the feast with the local residents was the celebration Yseult enjoyed most. But this year, her new husband sat beside her, doing his best to avoid looking at her.

It was a relief when the meal was over. They all took torches and filed out of the earthen ramparts of Lansyen to a nearby hill, where pieces of kindling and dried sticks and long branches had been stacked up in preparation for the bonfire. One by one, they doused their torches, all except for that of the Christian priest: for this holiest of celebrations, the liturgy began in total darkness with the blessing of the Easter fire. Just as it was in Eriu with the celebration of Beltane and the welcoming ritual for the light half of the year.

The priest lifted his arms and began his invocation, but it was largely drowned out by the laughter and merriment of people celebrating the end of winter — as if they were doing their best to support her in her assessment of the religious soul of her people.

She caught a verse spoken by the priest:

"Christ is risen from the dead,

"Trampling down death by death,

"And bestowing life

"Upon those in their graves!"

Despite the emphasis on death, in a way it was similar to the spring rites of her own tribe, the Tuatha Dé, who taught that the death of winter brought forth the life of summer. Sometimes she feared that the beliefs of her people were fated to die out completely, but as she watched the bonfire, hope swelled that their ways would survive in some form, that the rituals of the living earth might infiltrate the religion of the dead god.

Yseult smiled, automatically glancing at Cador beside her — and was reminded of the mess her life had become. A husband who would not listen to her, a lover who had married another. Cador did not deign to look at her, gazing fixedly ahead, his lips thin.

She lifted her chin and stared into the fire, determined to enjoy its energy and warmth and flickering play of colors. She would not beg. Nor would she allow herself to be dragged down by choices that might have been mistakes — there were always new choices to be made, and she no longer had to think of Kustennin when weighing her options. He was a man grown and could make his own way now, no matter how her marriage to Cador developed. She could make her decisions for herself — depending, that is, on the choices her husband gave her.

A husband whose mind was a blank to her. She had never been so frustrated at anyone's ability to block their thoughts.

Cador was not unreasonable. With time, he would surely give her a chance to explain that the letter to Gawain had been nothing more than congratulations on his nuptials. She did not have to tell him about the feelings of confused regret leading up to her decision to write the letter.

When the priest was done intoning his message of death and life, the villagers relit their torches at the bonfire, filed past him with their baskets, and bowed their heads as he blessed the eggs, yet more symbols of fertility and new life.

And new beginnings?

Yseult would be happy if they could just return to their old easy camaraderie. She didn't know why that shouldn't be possible. They might have gotten off to a bad start, but these last few months had still held many moments of quiet comfort.

If only he would allow her to explain the letter — and would believe her when she did.

* * * *

Cador stared at the bread and cheese and smoked ham on the table between them, their normal fare when they broke their fast mornings. They had not changed their simple habit for any other feast days in the last year, and Easter Sunday — or the festival of Nemetona or whatever other gods watched over this particular changing of the seasons — was no exception.

The uncomfortable silence stretched out, as so often in the last few days. Cador laid his knife on the table with a clatter he hadn't intended.

Yseult looked up, her gaze questioning.

"Have you nothing to say?" he spat out.

She pursed her lips. "You told me you didn't want to hear what I had to say. You can hardly blame me for keeping my peace until you calmed down."

It was true enough, but she would have had any number of opportunities to explain since then — if she'd only wanted to take them. It was obvious enough that she felt no need.

He rose and began to pace. "I cannot go on like this, Yseult. I think I need to be alone. Perhaps then I will 'calm down,' as you put it."

She lowered her own knife, staring at him. "What are you saying?"

He stopped and faced her. "I would like to return to Lindinis alone for now. You may either remain here, or go to Dyn Tagell earlier than we planned, as you wish."

"You want to live apart from me for a time."

"Yes."

She lifted the cloth napkin from her lap, folded it deliberately, laid it on the table, and rose. "Then I should begin making preparations. If you will excuse me?"

"Yseult —"

"No, Cador," she interrupted him. "I believe it is my turn to say I do not want to hear any more." With that, she turned and left the hall.

Cador watched her leave, wondering what he had done — and if he could or even wanted to undo it.

* * * *

The following morning after breaking his fast, Cador rode south in the direction of Voliba, but the port town was not his destination. He dismounted next to the standing stone and stroked the bay mare's neck before releasing her reins. The sun was warm on his face, but a breeze came in from the sea, tempering the spring warmth of the day. To his left, Voliba was visible in the bay below, and beyond, the ocean stretched out, all the way to Drystan's other home, Armorica — where he had found death at his own father's hands.

There had been little justice in his cousin's short life, but if nothing else, he'd had the love of Yseult.

Cador approached the memorial stone and traced the first words with his fingers.
Drustans hic iacet ...

"I wonder what you would think of this mess, Drystan," he said to the cold stone. The sun was not yet strong enough to heat rock, although there would be days in summer when the stone would be warm to the touch.

He settled down on the ground and leaned his head back against Drystan's memorial. "I don't know what I was thinking to marry Yseult. Or yes I do — I loved her, I always loved her. You must know that by now, wherever you are. But marrying her was a mistake. I'm just her husband, not her lover. I never was her lover, only her friend. I used to be happy enough with friendship, but now I'm not.

"I can't compete with you, Drys, I know that. Or Gawain either, it seems, even though she claimed she wasn't in love with him. But you two had a love people sing about, a love from which legends are made."

It never made us happy, though. If you work at it, you and Yseult could have a chance at happiness.

Cador was silent for a moment, letting the words of his murdered cousin sink in. Was he dreaming Drystan's voice? He had come here, to this hill, on more than just a whim, needing to be close to the man Yseult had loved beyond the grave.

Cador knew that there were things in this world that could not be explained either by the Roman philosophers or the Christian priests. He had learned to guard his thoughts so that Yseult could not read his every stray thought, had seen Brangwyn work her power of illusion on a whole company of men to deceive the enemy, had even seen Kustennin, untrained as he was, hide the men fighting beside him with the power of changing.

But he still had not expected to hear that familiar voice again after all these years.

Why not? There is something of my spirit yet left in the bones buried on this hill.

"Yes, but Yseult said we laid your spirit to rest when we avenged you."

The chuckle they had all loved so well reverberated in Cador's mind.
What makes you think I am not at rest? Simply because you call to me for help and I come?

"If you always came when those who love you called, you would be with Yseult all the time; you would never leave."

For a moment there was no response, but Cador felt a sense of dismay creep up his chest and close his throat.

That would be haunting, not helping
, Drystan's voice finally came.

Cador nodded slowly. "Yes, I see."

Of course you do. You always were a smart lad
. A pause.
Do you realize you're older now than I am, Cador?
The spirit inside of him laughed out loud, and Cador had to smile at the sheer exuberance of it.