Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (38 page)

Brangwyn nodded. "And of course nothing can compare to that, the excitement of the first flush of love, over and over again. So since Drystan died, you have been avoiding love; you only want it if it's impossible, since that is the only kind of love you know. That may even be why you suddenly find
both
Gawain and your husband more interesting."

Yseult turned away and gazed back out to sea. She did not think of herself as avoiding love, did not think of herself as defined by her love for Drystan. She was a ruler and a healer and a mother, a woman who had made a place for herself in a foreign land, who was doing her part to see that the old ways survived into a new era.

That might be her self-definition, but she knew the songs sung about the tragic love between her and Drystan, knew that much of Britain
did
define her that way. Of course, there were exceptions: those whose lives she had saved with her knowledge of herbs and healing, those who shared a glass of wine with her on occasion and knew her acerbic wit and quick temper. Or so she hoped.

She met Brangwyn's eyes. "An interesting theory. And you were right to be nervous about telling me. I am still considering whether I should be angry with you."

Brangwyn smiled and took Yseult's elbow again, turning back with her towards the lower hall. "I know you do not yet believe me, but do not dismiss my words either. You are running away from Cador, after all."

"He sent me away, Brangwyn."

"Still, perhaps you should return, explain to him what you explained to me."

They passed Yseult's herb garden. This early in the year it was still half dormant, but the plots were neat and well-tended from Brangwyn's care. "He didn't want to listen to my explanation," Yseult said. "I can't return to him until he asks me to."

Her cousin did not immediately reply, and the silence between them stretched out until they reached the door of the hall. Then she stopped and faced Yseult. "Believe me, I understand how you feel. But I think you are going to have to choose between being right or being happy."

"You think returning to Cador would make me happy?"

"Are you happy now?" Brangwyn asked in return, pushing open the door.

Yseult stepped into the home she had first shared with Drystan's father, and the heavy wooden door banged shut behind her.

* * * *

After she had washed off the grime of travel, Yseult lay down in her shift for a short rest, but sleep eluded her. Her conversation with Brangwyn would not leave her in peace. She should have had better answers, should have understood her own motives better.

She decided not to bring up her problems with Cador again. There would be enough to talk about; she still hadn't told Brangwyn what she'd observed in Celliwig.

The next thing she knew, morning sun was streaming through the windows. Yseult pushed herself up on her elbows. How had she managed to sleep through a whole afternoon and the night as well?

When she came down to the hall, Brangwyn and her family were already breaking their fast, and Yseult learned that Judual was to leave that day to join Arthur's forces in Caer Leon. She glanced down the table to where Brangwyn's foster son was drinking and joking with the younger warriors. Telling Brangwyn and Kurvenal what she had seen in Celliwig could wait until Judual was off and the excitement had died down.

That evening, she finally had a chance to bring up the subject of Ginevra. They sat together over a flask of wine after the evening meal, while the servants remained at a discreet distance.

After the dessert had been carried away, Yseult leaned forward. "There's something I need to tell you both, that we need to discuss," she said, her voice low. "On the way here from Lansyen, I stayed in Celliwig for the night. Medraut was there, 'stopping by' on his way back to Caer Leon from Armorica."

Kurvenal leaned forward as well. "Go on."

"There was nothing suspicious about the situation itself. Medraut had left his orphaned son with his mother Anna and claimed he'd hoped to travel back to Caer Leon with Arthur. But I caught memories and worries from Ginevra that gave the story a different interpretation."

Kurvenal's eyes narrowed. "And that was?"

"When Ginevra looked at her nephew, she was remembering incidents where she couldn't decipher his intentions. She is confused and flattered and tempted — and still in love with Cai, thank the gods."

"Medraut's mind is closed to you too?" Brangwyn said.

Yseult nodded. "He must have learned the trick from Nimue. Cador told me they were lovers before she seduced Myrddin away from Arthur."

"But why would Medraut want to seduce his uncle's wife?" Kurvenal asked.

"I asked myself that as well," Yseult said. "Perhaps he no longer believes his ambitions will be served by playing loyal nephew to the Dux Bellorum?"

Brangwyn poured herself another glass of wine. "Perhaps he wants to make sure he has other options."

It occurred to Yseult that none of them considered the possibility that Medraut might actually be falling in love with Ginevra. Were they being unfair, or just realistic?

"What do you think we should do?" she asked.

Kurvenal shook his head. "I don't see anything we
can
do."

"But we cannot ignore it either," Brangwyn said.

Yseult took a sip of wine. Unfortunately, they were both right. They could hardly go to Arthur with nothing more than some memories of a spring flirtation plucked out of Ginevra's mind. Medraut had saved Arthur's life in the battle for Abona, after all.

"I think our only option is to keep an eye on Medraut and Ginevra," Kurvenal said. "Nothing has happened yet, and it is hard to see what Medraut might think to gain."

"Revenge for a lifetime of slights?" Yseult suggested, thinking of Ginevra's memories — Medraut leaning into her, murmuring tender compliments, telling her how little she was appreciated. Seducing his uncle's wife.

Brangwyn grimaced. "Perhaps we can convince Arthur to pay more attention to Ginevra."

They all knew how likely that was after over fifteen years of marriage. Yseult sighed. While Arthur believed in her powers, he did not trust her the same way he'd trusted Myrddin. She was hardly the person to try to convince him that Medraut might be going behind his back. She found herself closing her eyes, looking inward and beyond, wishing she knew what to do, about Ginevra, about Medraut, about Cador.

Armies meeting and colliding, the smell of mud and blood and sweat and leather, the sound of blades clashing and men grunting with exertion.

Yseult felt suddenly ill at the vivid battle scene visiting her here at the hall in Dyn Tagell, but she could not wrench herself away. Was it the peace of Britain ending for good? But no — the vision wasn't of British armies.
The warriors screamed insults in the dialect of her homeland, attacking each other largely without armor, to prove their courage, many naked or half-naked. And then her mother's husband Crimthann was taking a blow and falling, falling.

Yseult shot up from the couch, and the goblet of Gaulish wine at her elbow teetered and fell, smashing on the tiled stone floor.

Brangwyn rose too and took her hands. "Yseult, what is it?"

"Crimthann. I have to go to Eriu. My mother will need me."

"What did you see?"

"A battle. Crimthann is wounded, perhaps dead. I don't know —"

Brangwyn gave her arms a shake. "Yseult, come back. If Crimthann is sore wounded, there is nothing you can do. It would be a week at the very least, more likely two, before you could be in Dun Ailinne. You cannot help your mother save him."

Yseult blinked and gazed into Brangwyn's dark blue eyes. "But if he is dying, I can be there for her. Crimthann is the love of my mother's life."

Her cousin was silent for a long moment, searching her eyes and gazing into her heart.

The grip on her hands tightened. "Are you sure you have to go? There are problems enough here for you to deal with."

"But not death," Yseult said quietly.

Brangwyn gave a short nod. "True. Still, I hope you are not making a mistake. Consider your husband. Consider what you know."

"Arthur trusts you," Kurvenal threw in, his fists balled on his knees.

"How long will he trust me if I accuse his nephew of intending to seduce his wife?" Yseult freed herself from her cousin's grip and strode a few paces away. "The trust Arthur has in me stems from the support I gave him against Marcus. But if I now spread rumors about Ginevra and Medraut, what becomes of my status as a figure of trust?"

To her surprise, Kurvenal was the first to respond. "You're right."

She turned to face him, wondering if he was finally beginning to forgive her for Drystan's death. "Would you go to Cador with what I know? He's Arthur's cousin — he might have a better chance of persuading Arthur to look a little more closely at his nephew's actions."

Kurvenal nodded. "Good idea. Everyone trusts Cador."

"Yes, they do, don't they?" Yseult said, repressing a sigh.
But
he
no longer trusts
me
.

Chapter 18

Brush the mold from Yseult's hair and face:

And you will find that swarthy furious gold

Still smoldering under the blanket of black mold;

And you will find those eyelids frail as lace;

Eyes like blue stones washed in a windy place;

  That mouth whose glowing motion once controlled

Cornwall and Lyonnesse; that throat as cold

As a long curve in water, white as a vase

Of moon-swept ivory: you will discover

    That body whose keen pallor was a sword.

Joseph Auslander, "Yseult"

Crimthann ruled at Dun Ailinne, but the closest port was precariously close to the traditional enemies of the Laigin, the Ui Neill. If Yseult's vision was of events in the present rather than the future, arriving at the port of Inber Da Glas could be dangerous. Her old home of Ard Ladrann was farther south and safer. It had been Crimthann's seat until he was elected king of the Laigin, and once there, she could surely discover if Crimthann were injured or dead, and where she would be able to find her mother.

It was strange returning to Ard Ladrann after so many years and so many changes. She had not been here since before being abducted and married off to Marcus Cunomorus, ripped out of a life she loved and sent to a foreign land. The times she'd visited Eriu since, she had stayed with her mother in Dun Ailinne or Brigid in Druim Dara, both larger sites with several hundred residents in and around the defenses. By contrast, the rath of Ard Ladrann consisted of no more than six houses inside the fortifications and about the same number without. Nestled between the bay and the royal seat were the fortified dwellings of several local fishers and merchants, as well as a shipbuilder. Compared to the towns she knew in Britain, it was no more than a village; she'd be surprised if there were a hundred people living in the scattering of buildings. Cador's villa outside of Lindinis had
at least
that many residents with all its tenants, servants, stable hands, caretakers and warriors. The city of Lindinis itself had nearly a thousand residents — and it was small by British standards.

But in a place like Ard Ladrann, everyone knew everyone else. Even after she'd been away for twenty years, Yseult was greeted like a family member who had finally returned home.

The tuath took care of its own.

When she and her men-at-arms neared the gates of the rath, a gray-haired warrior emerged, flanked by a vanguard of men and women in brightly dyed tunics and cloaks, torques of silver and gold glinting at wrist and arm and neck, decked out in every finery they possessed to receive her.

The graying warrior bowed and straightened. "Yseult the Fair, daughter of Yseult the Wise, Kingmaker of Eriu and queen of the Tuatha Dé Danann, it is an honor to welcome you back to Ard Ladrann. Your defense of this place in the battle against the warriors of Lóegaire has not been forgotten, and your song is sung from here to Dun Ailinne and beyond. We had not thought to ever see you again. Please accept every hospitality we have to offer."

As moved as she was by the grandiose traditional greeting, Yseult concentrated on the speaker, willing her mind to recognition. There was something familiar about the timbre of his voice, a certain lilt and a roughness at the edge of his words. She tried to imagine away the gray hair and thickening waist and bushy beard.

"Domnall?"

The warrior took her in a crushing embrace and then pushed her back arm's length. "It is good to see you looking so well, Yseult. I assume you came here because of the fighting between the Ui Cheinnselaig and the Ui Garrchon?"

"I had a vision," Yseult said as Domnall led the way into the rath. "I did not know who was fighting, but I did see Crimthann."

"We recently had word that he was seriously injured in the battle. His men barely got him back to Dun Ailinne alive."

"I must go to them."

"The men you brought will not be enough. We will send another dozen warriors with you."