Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (50 page)

"Should I come with you to Inber Da Glas?" Nath asked tentatively one morning.

He stood tall in the door of the largest guest house in Dun Ailinne, his back straight and proud, his blond hair with its hints of copper glinting in the spring sun behind him. And suddenly she realized that there was still something for her here in Eriu, that she would have to find a way to stay in touch with the brother who had only started to become real to her during this difficult winter.

She put the sleeping Riona down on the bed and rose, joining Nath at the door of the round house. "That would be wonderful, Nath, if it is not too much trouble," she said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"No trouble at all."

Well over a ten-day later, he stood straight and proud once again, this time in the sand of Inber Da Glas as her men carried her through the surf to the rowboat that would take her to the ship bound for Britain. Then a gust of wind caught at the shawl draped loosely around her shoulders and ripped it away. Yseult watched helplessly as the thin linen seemed to dance among the clouds, floating on the air farther and farther out to sea.

Her gift from Cador, gone.

Once she was safely seated in the boat, a sailor placed Riona in her arms. Clutching her daughter close, she twisted around in the direction of the beach to wave once more to her little brother. But Nath had already turned away and was trudging through the sand to the scattering of buildings that made up the port.

Chapter 22

Time and the dark

Had come, but not alone. The southern gate ...

Made now an entrance for three other men,

Who strode along the gravel or the grass,

Careless of who should hear them. When they came

To the great oak and the two empty chairs,

One paused, and held the others with a tongue

That sang an evil music while it spoke...

Edwin Arlington Robinson, "Mordred, A Fragment"

Cador watched the ship sail up the River Usk, wondering if this vessel finally brought a missive from Yseult. It was March, and ships were only just starting to make the journey more frequently again, but he still could not help himself. It had been almost a year since he'd last seen her, a year with barely a word and full of regrets. He could do with some good news — or even some not quite as good, as long as the news was from her, a sign of life. Information out of Eriu had been rare in recent months, and what did reach them did not promote optimism. The power struggle between the various clans of the Laigin had intensified with Crimthann's death, if the scattered reports they'd had were to be trusted. He only hoped Yseult was somewhere safe, not caught in the middle. Normally Cador was an optimist, but in the last year too much had gone wrong and he'd made too many mistakes.

If only he hadn't sent Yseult away.

If only Cai hadn't been on the hunting expedition when Loholt died.

If only Myrddin hadn't discovered overwhelming lust in his old age.

If only ...

But "if only"s didn't help matters.

Of course, he was well aware that correspondence between Britain and Eriu was unreliable, especially in winter. That he'd only heard from Yseult once since she left did not have to mean anything at all. Letters could easily be lost on the long voyage. Not even sending a personal messenger would guarantee the message arriving, since he could be robbed or murdered or drowned on the journey. Yseult probably did not want to give up one of her men-at-arms for the task. But now that the winter storms were over and the seas calmer, he kept hoping that she would be able to get word to him again. And every day she did not, his hope died a little more.

Perhaps she had simply decided to remain in Eriu — he had sent her away, after all.

"Pining for news from Eriu, are you?" came a voice at his elbow.

Cador turned to face Bedwyr, the closest companion Arthur had left in Caer Leon. "I see you have discovered some talent for reading minds."

"Yes, without the talents of the Old Ones, I never could have divined why you spend so much time moping near the docks, watching the ships come in," Bedwyr said with casual sarcasm.

Cador attempted a smile, but the other man's grim expression didn't lighten. Bedwyr's sense of humor had always been a little on the saturnine side, but with Cai banished it was rarely brightened by even a sardonic grin.

He returned his attention to the boat, the spring sun pleasantly warm on his back. Maybe this time there would be news.

But no. Goods were unloaded and ingots of gold and silver exchanged hands, but no one dashed off of the boat in the direction of the city walls with a small package, eager for the reward it would bring.

Cador turned away, and Bedwyr clapped him on the shoulder. "Perhaps, Master of Horse, a tavern visit is in order?"

He pushed Bedwyr's hand away. "Stop. Do not call me that."

"Ah, but the honor is yours now, is it not?"

"You know I hold no store by such things." Cador had come to Caer Leon in the late fall, bringing a dozen likely war horses for Arthur's stables. But instead of merely helping the Dux Bellorum until Cai was forgiven and could return to Caer Leon, Cador had found himself named to his former brother-in-law's position.

"But Master of Horse you are." The resentment was clear in Bedwyr's voice.

"And I tell you I did not want it!" Cador lashed out at the other man with a ferociousness foreign to his nature, shoving him away so hard he landed on his ass beside the road.

Bedwyr exploded from the ground and brought Cador down in a pile of pain. The part of his brain that was still rational told him that it had been supremely stupid to attack a man who, while much older, was also better trained and much bigger — and a friend.

Another part of him was just glad to have something to punch.

Despite the sun that had been warming his shoulders, the ground beneath his back was cold and moist. It was still far from summer. Cador would be regretting this boyish brawl for more reasons than just the bruises he would take away from it.

"Enough!" roared a female voice.

He and Bedwyr were surprised enough by the sound to roll away from each other and sit up sheepishly. Modrun was standing above them, her fists planted on her hips, her expression livid. "You two are lucky I had a shipment of glassware to pick up from the boat that just arrived, otherwise who knows what kind of damage you would have done to each other."

Modrun was not the only one staring at them; while they had been rolling around in the grass punching each other, they had collected a small crowd. Gildas giggled happily at the sight of Cador involved in a dirty scuffle, while Kustennin stared in disbelief. Next to Modrun, Celemon looked on, disgusted, then turned on her heel and ran away. Various other gawking townsfolk pointed and chuckled.

Trying to save the situation, Cador jabbed his thumb at Bedwyr, shrugging. "He challenged me, said I didn't have a chance against an old man like him."

Bedwyr laughed — laughed! "And I was right!"

Cador could see that Kustennin wasn't convinced, but he drifted away with the rest of the crowd.

Bedwyr and Cador dusted off their clothes, while Modrun waited, her arms folded in front of her chest, looking for all the world as if she were their mother — even though he did not think she could be much older than Bedwyr, if that.

Cador winced. "I think one of my ribs might be cracked."

Modrun shook her head. "So unnecessary. Is there not enough internal strife tearing us all apart?" As she spoke, she glanced after the retreating figure of Celemon. Officially, her engagement to Modrun's son Aurelius still stood, but Aurelius had not been seen in Caer Leon since the Christmas celebrations, and rumors were whispered on every street corner. What young prince wanted a wife whose father was in disgrace, after all?

"It was nothing serious, Modrun," Bedwyr said. "Frustration and disappointment got the better of us."

Cador probed his aching side with his fingers. "Nothing serious? Your bones are thicker than mine."

Modrun sighed and took Cador by one arm. "Come, I will take a look at it and do what I can. And you should come too, Bedwyr, even if your bones are thicker. We need to talk."

* * * *

Modrun had a modest townhouse in Caer Leon in an area converted into individual dwellings from a block of barracks. When Aurelius's brother Caradoc had become king of Gwent, Modrun had begun to spend as much time in Caer Leon as in nearby Caer Gwent, saying she did not want to get in her son's way too much. But the real reason was her cousin Arthur. As Myrddin's visits to Nimue grew longer and longer, Modrun had become one of Arthur's chief advisors. But while she did not have the degree of influence over the Dux Bellorum that Myrddin once had, Arthur at least sought her advice, even if he did not always take it.

Modrun bid Cador strip off his tunic and lie down on a couch while she sent a servant for salves and bandaging material.

"Now, what was your fight really about?" Modrun said as she probed his chest.

"Bedwyr is jealous that Arthur made me Master of Horse," Cador said, trying to lighten the atmosphere some.

It didn't work. "I am not jealous," Bedwyr growled.

"I know — ouch! It was just a joke. You can't stand anyone being in that position other than Cai."

Bedwyr crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. "It's true. I cannot."

"And it has gone so far that you have lost your famed sense of humor," Modrun said, applying the salve brought by a slave to his bruises. "Nonetheless, it's not a joke. There is jealousy that Arthur has given you the position, Cador, I have felt it."

"Really? Then why didn't Arthur name someone else?"

Bedwyr snorted. "Because you know horses. Your stables have become famous throughout Britain, and the horse fairs at Durnovaria are the best on this island."

"Thank you. You could have thought of that before you decided to crack my ribs."

"You started it, don't you remember?"

"Before you decided to provoke me," Cador amended.

"Shhh," Modrun admonished. "We need to stand together, not fight each other."

"He's lying down," Bedwyr pointed out.

"Perhaps Myrddin could be found and persuaded to return," Modrun suggested, ignoring the attempt at a joke.

"I could strangle that Nimue," Bedwyr said. "Sometimes I think that when Myrddin disappeared, Arthur's wisdom disappeared with him."

"We need Cai back too," Cador said. "If we could reconcile Cai with Arthur and Ginevra, then he could be Master of Horse again."
And I could go home
.

Modrun looked at him sharply, and Cador remembered that he had to be careful with his thoughts around her, just as he was with his wife.

"You have always been too optimistic, Cador," Bedwyr said.

"Perhaps. But I think that is better than painting everything so black in my own mind that I am incapable of action."

Bedwyr emitted a sound almost like a chuckle. "A direct hit."

"I can find no break," Modrun said. "Although you may have a fracture or two. If the pain grows worse, you should seek me out immediately."

"I will."

Modrun unfolded a length of linen and began to refold it to a long strip. "As to the matter of Cai, Arthur might allow him to return, but Ginevra would not. At one time she may have been persuaded to see reason, but not anymore. Sit up please, Cador."

Cador sat. "Why not?"

"She is too strongly influenced by Medraut. Raise your arms."

He sighed. "Damn."

"Are you unable to raise your arms?"

"No, that's not it." He raised his arms obediently. "Yseult warned me of this. Are they lovers?"

"Yes," she said, holding another folded piece of linen to the spot on his chest that hurt the most. He sucked in his breath.

"Damn," Bedwyr echoed.

"Could you help me please?" Modrun asked Bedwyr. "Take this long strip and run it around Cador's chest while I hold this bandage here."

"I should have done something," Cador said. "But it seemed so useless at the time."

"Ah, so you too can be struck by hopelessness," Bedwyr said.

He attempted a shrug, but pain shot through his rib cage and it ended up a wince. "Before she left for Eriu, Yseult sent me a message that Ginevra and Medraut should be watched. But what was I to do? Seek out Arthur and tell him that his nephew was courting his wife? On what grounds?"

"You're right," Modrun said, taking the end of the linen Bedwyr gave her and tucking it into another fold of the fabric. "The only one of us with such powers who Arthur would believe irrefutably is Myrddin."

"And he is off somewhere planting old seed between young thighs," said Bedwyr bitterly.

Cador rubbed his eyes. "It is difficult to suggest anything negative about Medraut to Arthur. Not only is he his sister Anna's child, he saved Arthur's life in the battle for the Mount of Frogs."

"It's true, there is that. A man always feels differently about one who saved his life."