Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (48 page)

He gave an embarrassed laugh. "True enough."

"Go now. I will look to the queen." The light was dim, and Yseult could barely make out Illann's figure leaving the round house.

"Will I lose the babe?" Yseult asked once he was gone.

"I don't know," Brigid said. "But I do know you need to rest."

"Yes." She had to rest.

And she slept.

* * * *

When Yseult awoke again, she did not at first remember where she was. It was dark, and she heard snoring nearby. She propped herself up on her elbows and glanced around, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the half-light. Finally she recognized Lupida on a bed nearby. She was in the house of healing — she had collapsed and been brought here.

Yseult wondered how long she'd slept. Given the quality of the light filtering through the slits underneath the roof, it was either dawn or dusk or a particularly cloudy day.

The door opened, and Brigid entered, followed by Mel.

Brigid hurried over. "Yseult, you're awake!"

"How long have I been sleeping?"

Brigid smiled. "Nearly two days."

Yseult pushed herself farther up and sat on the edge of the pallet. Her hands sought her abdomen: still rounded and hard.

"You did not lose the babe," Brigid said. "But you must be cautious and continue to rest as much as possible. I blame myself; I admit, I was not thinking of your pregnancy. I allowed you to take on much more than you should have. You are little more than skin and bone."

"And a stomach," Yseult added.

From the shadows nearby came a weak chuckle she did not recognize. "With such spirit, you will surely recover, Lady Yseult."

She turned to see Mel squeezing his aunt's hand. "Like you, Lupida," the priest said.

But then the figures around her began spinning and Yseult put a hand to her forehead. "Perhaps you overestimate me."

Brigid pushed her back gently onto the pallet. "You are not ready to rise yet. Regain your strength first. I will have some fresh bread and butter brought directly."

"That sounds excellent. I must recover as soon as possible in order to return to Britain before the weather changes."

"We will see how long it takes you to regain your strength. By the way, Illann returned to Dun Ailinne yesterday. I told him to ask your mother to return to Druim Dara to look after you."

"I am pregnant, not ill."

"You are pregnant and you have been starving yourself."

"As have we all."

"As have we all, but you have been working harder than anyone."

"Except for you."

"But I am not pregnant."

Yseult had no answer to that.

Brigid stroked a hand across Yseult's brow with an unusually tender gesture. "You are stubborn and strong-willed, Yseult the Fair, sister of my heart, and many admire you for it. But now you must rest and let others care for you." She rose and left the house of healing.

"Brigid can wear the title of 'wise woman' with pride," Lupida said quietly.

Her nephew Mel merely stared after Brigid without speaking, Lupida's hand clenched tightly in his own. Yseult was too tired to try to read his thoughts and so she drifted back into sleep, thinking of fresh bread and butter.

* * * *

Yseult was surprised at how slow her recovery was, especially given that she had not felt weak or ill before she collapsed.

"You were pushing yourself beyond your reserves," her mother told her when she complained. "You kept yourself going through sheer force of will, but once the pressure was no longer there, your body took over. I have seen this among warriors many times, when they continue fighting with a grave wound until the battle is over — and then they break down."

Of course it made sense, but she couldn't help being impatient. As the month of harvest drew near, so did the dark half of the year and its storms when it was rare a ship dared cross the Erainn Sea. What would Cador be thinking that she stayed away so long? She was eager to return now that the siege was lifted, but her mother and Brigid insisted she was not strong enough to travel; not only would she endanger the child, she would endanger herself.

While Yseult was still recovering, a letter finally arrived for her from Britain, the first she had received since she left. She sat up on her pallet in the house of healing and opened the thinly sliced sheets of wood.

Cador to Yseult, greetings.

When writing you, I have the feeling I am shouting down a well; I know not whether my missives are reaching you, whether you do not wish to receive them, or whether your answers have failed to find me. Be that as it may, the news now is grave, and I must write.

Yseult lowered the letter. So Cador had been writing, but none of his letters had survived the journey. And neither had hers.

She raised the sheets again and continued reading.

Loholt was killed recently in a hunting accident. As if that were not bad enough, Cai has been accused of murdering him. While Arthur does not believe the rumors, Ginevra does — and has seen to it that Cai is no longer welcome in Caer Leon. I have volunteered to take over his position as Master of Horse in the interim. When next you write, send to me at Caer Leon, not Lindinis.

Kustennin is well. From what I hear, he has the makings of a true war leader, with all the instinct and ambition I never had.

I hope this finds you in good health. We have mostly bad news from Eriu and I worry. Please write and let us know how you are.

Your Cador

Oh, if only she could travel! She needed to return to her husband, to Britain, needed to help where she could. Perhaps she would be able to talk some sense into Ginevra where others had failed — Ginevra trusted her, after all.

But no, Brigid and her mother were right. The excitement of the news alone had her head spinning.

She sighed and dropped her forehead into her hands.

"Lady Yseult?" It was the young priest Conlaed, who now regularly helped out in the house of healing. "Is something the matter?"

"Bad news from Britain." She looked up. "Could you fetch writing implements for me? I must reply."

He bowed. "Certainly, Lady."

"Thank you."

* * * *

Yseult to Cador, greetings.

I received my first letter from you today, which means any others you sent were lost. It appears most of my letters have suffered the same fate.

The news from Britain is grave indeed, and I thank you for writing. My greatest wish would be to return immediately and give whatever assistance is within my power, but unfortunately at present I cannot travel. Druim Dara was under siege for over a month, and we are all greatly weakened from the need to ration our stores. It is hard for me to admit it, but I suffered a fit of weakness after the siege was lifted and am still in the house of healing, battling spells of dizziness and fainting. But never fear, I sustained no injury — my present condition is a result of the prolonged reduction in our rations combined with the need to assist Brigid during the siege. Brigid and my mother are of the opinion that I was only able to remain on my feet as long as I did out of sheer stubbornness, something you will surely be able to believe.

I can only hope that this letter will reach you and remain

Your faithful wife Yseult

* * * *

"I'm worried about your mother," Brigid said one day when she brought a hearty rabbit stew to Yseult's bedside.

Yseult swung her legs over the side of the pallet. "Why, is she ill?"

Brigid put the bowl down on a low table and sat down. "No, but she is so listless — except when we argue."

"What do you argue about?" Yseult took up the spoon and began to eat the soup, but it was difficult; she still had very little appetite.

"It is the old disagreement — how to react to the growing influence of the religion of Christ. Once we took much the same position, but for some time now we have been moving in opposite directions. I fear your mother is tempted to join those of the Feadh Ree who have retreated to the dwellings of the Old Ones in the hills."

The spoon slipped out of her fingers and clattered to the table. "My mother?"

"I'm afraid so."

This was not going to help Yseult's appetite at all.

* * * *

"I'm worried about Brigid," Yseult's mother said, setting a bowl of barley soup and thick slabs of bacon on the table next to her bed.

Yseult sat up, doing her best to keep her mind closed. "Why?"

"She sits together with the Christian priests half a day at a time, and they have free run of Druim Dara, the most sacred site of the goddess in Eriu."

Yseult shrugged. "Patraic did play an important role in freeing us, after all."

"Yes, but that does not mean she has to allow a church to be built within the walls."

The bacon she was chewing on turned to leather in her mouth. "Are you sure? Is she really considering such a thing?"

Her mother nodded. "She says she owes it to the Christians after they saved her from her own people."

On some level, Yseult could understand Brigid's disappointment, but still — to build a church, on this spot holy to Anu, Danu, and Brigid, would change Eriu beyond recognition.

* * * *

By the time Yseult could leave her bed and begin making the rounds of Druim Dara, the first stones were already being laid for the new church.

She leaned on Brigid's arm and watched as Conlaed emptied another wicker basket on the pile of rocks already collected, while Lupida, who had recovered completely from her wound, spoke quietly with her brother Patraic.

"I know you don't approve," Brigid said. "But it was Patraic's only request after he saved Druim Dara."

"Helped to save," Yseult corrected. "I no longer live here anymore, Brigid. Whether I approve or not is immaterial. But do you realize that this little stone church will last longer than any other building in Druim Dara?"

"Yes. Nonetheless, it is my sacred duty to keep the holy fire alive as long as possible. You may not agree with me, but this is the best way." Brigid glanced away from the church, towards the thick ramparts that had saved them. "Besides, I've had enough of the worship of bloodshed. You can say much against the religion of the Christ, but at least it does not glorify war."

* * * *

As the church grew, so did Yseult's strength — but not fast enough. As the heat of summer gave way to the storms of fall, the days became shorter and the weather more inclement. And then there were the complaints that plagued her more and more, the colder the days and the larger her belly: the continuing spells of faintness, the cramps in her calves, the sudden backache spasms that made it temporarily impossible for her to walk.

"Yseult, you cannot travel," her mother said. "You know it yourself."

She did know, but she did not want to believe it. It was long since time she returned to Cador, to set his mind at ease if nothing else. Besides, she was worried about developments in Britain, and she wanted to see her son and husband and friends again.

Slowly, however, she was beginning to fear that she would not be returning to Britain until spring, with a child in her arms.

* * * *

Samhain drew near, and the church was almost complete, the new Cill Dara. The leaves on the sacred oak were turning shades of yellow and orange and red, occasionally dropping flurries of leaves in the stronger gusts of wind. This was the time of year when the door between the worlds was opened widest, and here in her homeland again, Yseult could feel it more than she ever had in Britain.

"Will you be remaining for Samhain?" Yseult asked Illann, now the new king of the Laigin. She still found herself growing dizzy at odd times and was grateful that she could lean on his well-muscled arm. He had come with Nath for a visit — and, as it turned out, to suggest to Yseult the Wise that her son go into fosterage with him. Not even that could get much of a reaction out of her mother, Yseult noticed. The only thing she seemed to care about anymore was the church being built in their midst. Whenever they passed it, like now, her mother pursed her lips and looked away, and the thoughts Yseult caught from her were a jumble of anger and resignation.

Illann shook his head. "I must be in Dun Ailinne to walk between the fires and bless the harvest."

Yseult smiled. "True. I forget that you have the duties of a king to fulfill now."

"Would you like to stay here or return with me to Dun Ailinne?" Illann asked Nath.

Nath shrugged. "I don't know."

"Brigid intends to take Christian vows," her mother said out of the blue.

They all stopped and stared at the church, where Brigid was deep in conversation with Mel, while Patraic helped fit stones into each other, not shying from heavy lifting despite the white in his hair and his position as Christian leader of Eriu. If her mother had seen it, it was surely true; Yseult the Wise had the strongest power of knowing of anyone she had ever met, including Brigid herself.

Brigid looked over, interrupted by the intensity of their attention. They saw her put a hand up, stopping Mel, and then turn and stride over to their party. But she was not interested in anyone except Yseult the Wise, Kingmaker of Eriu. Another gust of wind shook the branches of the ancient oak above, sending a scattering of multi-colored leaves down around them. The priestess stopped in front of the Kingmaker, her shoulders square and her expression full of regret. "Yes, Yseult the Wise, you have seen what I intend, but I have seen things to come, things I cannot prevent."