Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (42 page)

The merchant stared at the streaming silver for a long moment before he finally answered. "I will carry the letter."

"So noble of you," the port master said, beaming. He handed the merchant the wooden box with one hand and poured the shaved silver into the outstretched palm with the other.

The letter boarded a curragh with the waiting dogs and found a home aboard ship in the sleeping compartment of the merchant himself, who intended to get at least another piece of silver out of the delivery when they reached Moridunum. Surely there would be someone willing to pay for the privilege of making the journey to the king of the Durotriges, given the prospect of a reward for a letter from his wife — a small investment with the potential for a huge profit.

Unfortunately, no one was ever to see the profit. As they sailed south, a sudden summer storm struck the Erainn Sea. The crew of the ship fought the elements as best they could, but the waves battering their vessel were too much for them. After the main mast broke in a gust of wind that hit them like the fist of a god, they bobbed on the violent waves for the space of a heartbeat and a lifetime until the proud corbita capsized, a ship that had seen the sunny lands of Rome and Carthage and had sailed may times through the Straits of Gibraltar, only to find its end on the short but notoriously stormy passage between Eriu and Britannia.

Some of the Erainn hounds managed to swim to land. But Yseult's words to her husband — along with a dozen human lives — sank to the bottom of the ocean.

Book V

Love Secured

Chapter 19

On the right hand of King Arthur sate the beautiful Indeg, and on his left the lovely Garwen. Taliesin advanced, along the tesselated floor, towards the upper end of the hall, and, kneeling before King Arthur, said, "What boon will King Arthur grant to him who brings news of his queen?"

"Any boon," said Arthur, "that a king can give."

"Queen Gwenyvar," said Taliesin, "is the prisoner of King Melvas, in the castle of Dinas Vawr."

Thomas Love Peacock, "The Misfortunes of Elphin"

Cador to Kustennin, greetings.

Many thanks for the news from Caer Leon. Perhaps the Armorican kings can contain the threat from Chlodovech without help. With Arthur's strong ties there, however, I know he will decide to go if he is needed. But I do wonder how many of the kings of Britain will see the situation the same way he does.

I fear I have had no further news of your mother since she arrived in Dun Ailinne. Correspondence between Britain and Eriu is difficult in the best of times, which these are not. I assume you have also heard that Crimthann is now dead and there have been battles among the tribes of the Laigin to determine the succession? I can only hope and pray that your mother has not been caught in that. If you have more news than I, please send word.

I hope this letter finds you well. Next month Alun and I will be at the horse fair in Durnovaria, if you care to join us.

Your stepfather Cador

Kustennin folded the leaves of the letter and retied the cord, gazing down at the thin sheet of wood without really seeing it. Cador was certainly right about one thing — he
had
heard about Crimthann's death and the resulting battles. He'd been hoping this letter would bring news of his mother's safe return. Instead, nothing.

"What is it, Kustennin?" Loholt asked. "Bad news?"

"
No
news, unfortunately."

"Which is almost as bad," Judual commented.

Kustennin nodded. He didn't have to explain to his friends; they knew the situation already. Their silent sympathy was a comfort.

He looked up. "Come, weapons practice calls, and I am in the mood to swing a sword. Are you two finally done breaking your fast?"

* * * *

Kustennin was tired and sweaty from another long day of mock skirmishes; practice grew increasingly intense the closer Chlodovech's Frankish armies got to Armorica. What an unpronounceable name! In strategy meetings, many of Arthur's companions had gone over to using the Latin variant of the Germanic king's name, Ludovicus, which flowed much easier from the tongue.

As Kustennin climbed the stairs to his rooms on the upper floor of the former tribune's house, he heard voices. He grimaced; it appeared he would have to send the servants away before changing for the evening meal.

But as he neared the open door, he recognized the female voice. Perhaps he would not have to send them
all
away — if he was not mistaken, the woman was Generys, a serving girl who had begun warming his bed shortly after he had arrived in Caer Leon. He grinned; maybe she would be willing to "help him change."

Then he heard Generys give a throaty laugh. "Come, sing it for me!"

"I have no harp," came a deep male voice.

"Ah, but your voice needs no accompaniment," she said, her voice low and warm.

Kustennin stopped a few steps below the landing and leaned against the wall of the stairwell. He knew that seductive timbre; he had heard it often enough by now. He had even allowed himself to think the tone reserved for him.

The man with Generys chuckled. "Well then, if you are so undemanding, here the tune I picked up in the market today: 'The Madness of Drystan.'"

He debated whether he should interrupt the legendary tale, part of the cycle of stories revolving around the love affair that had led to his conception. The fame by association was a constant irritation in his youth, but now the irritation of hearing Generys flirting with another man had the upper hand. Before he could decide what to do, his sometime lover gave another seductive laugh. "But that's not new! I've heard versions of that tale many times before. Surely you have a more recent song?"

"There is the song of Gawain and Ragnell that has been all the rage for the last few months. But surely you have heard that one already?"

"Yes, but not as often as the many songs of Drystan and Yseult. They bore me."

"Then Gawain and Ragnell it is."

Kustennin pushed away from the white-washed wall and descended the steps. Yes, he needed to change his clothes, but he had no interest in facing those two just now. It was odd; while on the one hand he was relieved not to be confronted yet again with the tragic tale for which his mother was famed — and reviled — another part of him was unexpectedly offended that her tragedy was relegated to the ranks of boring.

Lost in thought, he stepped out of the door — and collided with Cai's daughter Celemon.

She grabbed him by the shoulders, laughing. "Kustennin! Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

"And why not?"

"The strangest thing just now. One of the serving girls —" —
who warms my bed —
"just declared the tale of Drystan and Yseult boring in my hearing."

Celemon laughed even louder.

"She wanted to hear the story of Gawain and Ragnell instead," he continued with a little shrug.

Celemon pushed his arm playfully. "Perhaps that will teach you not to resent your mother's legendary status."

"Perhaps." Celemon had long teased him for that.

Her expression grew serious. "Is there any news from her?"

Kustennin shook his head.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I hope you hear something soon. It's not like your mother not to write."

"I assume the feuds in Eriu are making it difficult to get letters out."

Celemon took his hand. "Kustennin, your mother is strong. She has been through more than you or I could ever imagine."

"I know." He'd been telling himself that already — and that it made no sense to worry when he had nothing specific to worry about. Time enough once bad news arrived.

After a pause, she spoke again. "Where were you headed just now?"

Kustennin shrugged. "I wasn't particularly inclined to interrupt their 'cleaning' after what I heard."

She opened the bag draped over her elbow to reveal two loaves of fresh bread. "I just fetched the bread for the evening meal. Would you care to sup with us?"

The scent wafting up from her bag reminded Kustennin that it had been midday since he'd had anything to eat. "I planned to meet with Judual and Loholt and a few others in a public house, but a meal at home with you and your father is quite tempting. I never got around to changing after weapons practice, however."

She stepped in front of him and stopped him with palm outstretched. Donning a deliberately critical look that made him smile, she looked him up and down. "Not good. But at least it's not mud. Hold still."

Celemon brushed the dust and dirt off his clothes as best she could, and then wiped her hands off on each other. "You're good enough for family now."

Kustennin laughed. "Then thank you for the invitation. I accept gladly. But first I must inform my friends that I won't be joining them tonight."

"Excellent!" She looped her arm over his elbow. "I see far too little of you, given that both of us are here in Caer Leon. Back when we were in fosterage with Cador, we played and fought like brother and sister nearly every day."

They neared the tavern where he and his friends had planned to meet. On such a mild summer evening, the place seemed too small, with customers spilling out onto the street, leaning against wall and pillar, or dragging chairs out where they could watch the life of the city pass by. Talk and laughter filled the air.

Kustennin spotted Judual and the others in a shady corner under the portico. "There you are! I'm afraid I won't be joining you today after all. Celemon has invited me over for supper."

He saw the looks that passed between his friends, the glances that shot from him to Celemon and back, and he wanted to laugh out loud, wanted to tell them,
but she's just Cai's daughter Celemon, the next best thing to a sister, certainly not worth these looks heavy with meaning!

Loholt was the first to respond. "Well, if tavern grub is no longer enough to hold you, by all means, go."

Kustennin laughed. "I will most likely be right here with all of you tomorrow."

Smiling, Judual let his eyes wander just a fraction longer than normal over Celemon. "Certainly."

A knowing look in his eyes, Arthur's bastard son Anir, the oldest of their group, waved one hand in dismissal. "Go. Enjoy your dinner."

Kustennin returned the smile. "Thank you. I will."

Strange the way his friends were reacting — it was only Celemon, after all, the tall, gangly girl he'd spent much of his youth with.

As they walked away from the tavern, he glanced over at her. Perhaps she wasn't so lanky anymore, he just hadn't noticed it before, the way his memories of her always mixed with what was there before his eyes, like the writing that had been wiped off a wax tablet but still left its mark. He started to see her through his friends' eyes, saw why they lingered when they rested on her. Yes, she was tall, and she would probably never be buxom like Generys, but soft curves were recognizable under the flowing linen of her tunic. Her hair, an average shade somewhere between blond and brown, was bound in a thick braid that ran down her back — very far down her back.

Kustennin watched the end of her braid bounce against the pale fabric of her shift and found himself entertaining disconcerting thoughts about his old childhood playmate.

Luckily, they soon reached Cai's residence in Caer Leon, a new building of wood but in the Roman style, erected after much of the western corner of the town had been destroyed in a battle against Erainn invaders. As they entered the atrium, Cai came out to meet them, much taller and much blonder than his daughter, still the epitome of a hero, despite the strands of gray now lacing the hair at his temples.

"So you decided to bring an unannounced guest to supper." Cai extended his hand to Kustennin. "Well met, Kustennin. I have seen little of you at weapons practice recently, and when I do, there is no time to talk."

"Arthur had me take a band of recruits on a twenty-mile march yesterday." Kustennin chuckled. "And here I barely feel like much more than a recruit myself!"

Cai signaled for food and drink to be brought and led them to benches in a shady alcove. "Being a king, it is more important that you learn how to lead than follow."

"That I understand. The marching less so, since Arthur relies so heavily on cavalry."

"But how many mounts will we be able to transport across the sea if we move against Chlodovech? We may well be marching more often than we do on campaigns here in Britain."

A servant arrived with fruit and wine, and Kustennin helped himself gladly.

"What is this, Celemon," came a laughing voice from the entrance. "Yet another rival?"

Kustennin looked over to see Aurelius, followed closely by his mother Modrun.
Rival?

Celemon rose with a smile, her hands outstretched, and the young prince took them and gave her a lingering kiss on both cheeks. After the death of Modrun's husband Honorius, the kingdom of Gower had been bestowed on Iddon, and Gwent on Caradoc, with Aurelius named heir to both.

Cai and Modrun exchanged a meaningful look, while Celemon and Aurelius continued to hold hands in the middle of the atrium. Kustennin found himself clenching his hands at his sides — a reaction which made no sense whatsoever. Not that it was any comfort.