Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (73 page)

He shrugged. "Nothing more than the normal cuts and bruises of battle. I walk."

As they came through the battered gate of Celliwig, Yseult was stunned at how the whole hill-fort resembled a house of healing. Torches and bonfires burned at regular intervals to provide some light to those tending to the injured; the wounded themselves were everywhere both in and between the houses. Canvas stretched over poles provided minimal protection from intermittent rain. There had to be hundreds of casualties here in Celliwig alone; she knew there were more in tents outside.

Kustennin pushed open the door of one of the smaller houses. More flickering torchlight and pallets everywhere, but Yseult found Cador immediately.

She knelt next to her husband and took his hand.

"I will leave you now," Kustennin murmured over the irregular chorus of moans.

Yseult nodded and laid her free hand on Cador's forehead. He was warm but not feverish. She felt down his left thigh, where she'd heard his leg was broken in several places. There the skin was warmer, but still not dangerously hot, and the splints appeared to be setting the bones correctly.

"Yseult."

He had woken and was looking at her wearily, the pain of this nearly lost battle clear in his eyes. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course. Perhaps we can provide some relief to the injured."

"We?"

"Brangwyn and Ragnell came with me."

Cador closed his eyes at the mention of Ragnell. "Has Gawain been found yet?"

She shook her head. When she probed his mind, she discovered that he was sure Gawain was dead — and Cador was consumed by the guilt of the survivor.

"Any news of Arthur?" Cador asked.

"Kustennin said he was sore wounded but still alive. I have not yet seen him; I came straight to you."

The hopelessness that filled him scared her. From many years as a healer, she knew well enough that hopelessness could kill even when a wound itself did not; infection could set in, the wound might not heal properly, or any number of other complications could develop that were much more likely to occur if the patient did not put his mind to recovering.

Which at the moment Cador didn't care to do.

There was no privacy here, but this time Yseult could not put off what she had to say — as she had when they saw each other last in Dyn Tagell. Somehow she had to remind him that there were still things worth living for. Besides, peace was no longer a given, and she didn't know how long she would still have him, even if he survived his injuries this time.

She leaned her forehead against his. "Cador. I am so grateful you are alive. In the last few weeks, I realized I can hardly imagine a life without you any more."

She felt the hint of a smile bloom in his mind. "But you
have
lived without me for over two years."

"And it was probably the longest I have gone without seeing you for at least a decade," she said, raising her head again. "But to never see you again, never return to you, never come to you when I need friendship or help? You have become such a fixed part of my life, I didn't realize how much I rely on you, how much I need you."

He took her hand and squeezed it. "Thank you, Yseult."

"I watched from the ramparts of Dyn Draithou when Medraut captured you, and that was when I knew how blind I'd been. I love you, Cador. If you have no will to recover for yourself, please try to do so for me — and Riona."

He stared at her in the flickering light, and she could feel astonishment begin to take over from hopelessness.

"I fear I will always be stubborn and arrogant," she continued, her voice a little unsteady. "But I promise I will try to hold that in check. Perhaps you can learn to love me too someday."

Cador blinked and then laughed, a sound that filled Yseult with relief. "Yseult. Oh, Yseult. I have loved you since I was a boy. You cannot imagine how grateful I am that you taught me the trick of shielding my thoughts all those years ago."

"Oh." She didn't know what to say. How could she not have noticed? Why had he not told her? That was easy enough — for years she had been in love with his cousin, and she had never given him any reason to think that had changed.

Then it finally hit her — Cador loved her too. She found herself laughing. "I never took you for such a good actor."

"I am no actor. You were never interested in my feelings for you, one way or another." He dropped his voice and pressed her hand again. "I will survive for you and Riona, I promise. You have done your duty by me and now you can tend to the other injured."

She smiled and rose, still holding his hand. "That I will."

But when she left the hill-fort to seek out the wounded outside the ramparts, the first duty she found herself confronted with was comforting Ragnell.

The body of Gawain had been found.

* * * *

By the time Ragnell was able to make arrangements for Gawain's body to be taken north for burial, Cador had left his sickbed and was hobbling around Celliwig on crutches. He found Gawain's widow outside of the northern gate, inspecting wagons and arguing with cartwrights.

"Ragnell!"

She turned, and for a moment he had the impression that one half of her face was a disfigured mass of scars. He shook his head, and the illusion vanished.

She approached. "Yes, Cador?"

"I wanted to ask you to wait with Gawain's funeral until I am recovered enough to travel."

"And how long will that be?" Ragnell gazed at the splints holding his leg together.

"Yseult says perhaps a month."

Ragnell crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Which means it might well be two. Why should I wait so long?"

"I need to erect a stone in Gawain's honor."

Ragnell's expression was frosty. "I am perfectly able to commission a monument for my husband."

"I'm sure you are. But I made a promise to Gawain, years ago," Cador protested, opening his mind and his memories to her. "'A warrior's monument' he said. Please, let me do this for him."

Her expression softened. "Good, then we will be expecting you in the north when you are well enough to travel."

* * * *

Yseult did not want Cador making such a trip so soon after his injuries at the battle of Camlann, but she also understood that it couldn't be avoided.

Just as they were making plans to travel north, Ginevra announced that she'd decided to retire to a convent. It was early November, and they were still in Dyn Tagell, since Arthur's condition was not yet good enough to subject him to a longer journey. A hint of snow dusted the buildings the morning that Ginevra knelt next to the sickbed of her former husband to take her leave. Yseult stood back in the doorway, making her presence as unobtrusive as possible. Since the battle of Camlann, Arthur would not recover and would not die, seeming to exist in some kind of limbo where Yseult and Brangwyn could not help him.

"I am leaving now Arthur," Ginevra said, taking one of the hands that lay on the coverlet — hands of an old man. "I should have done this long ago: I would ask your forgiveness before I go."

"Certainly," Arthur said weakly. "There is not much else left for us now besides forgiveness, is there? I hope you will forgive me as well."

Ginevra swallowed. "There is nothing to forgive."

He shook his head more vigorously than Yseult had seen in all the time since the battle of Camlann. "I wronged you," Arthur said. "I understand that now. I wronged you by marrying you, but it did not help matters that I visited Indeg openly, not caring what you would think."

Yseult leaned back on the door frame, trying to disappear into the shadows. This might well be the most intimate moment Arthur and Ginevra had ever shared; it didn't seem right that she was there to witness it. But Ginevra was still regarded as a traitor, one step away from a prisoner of war — not worthy of privacy. Someone was set to watch her at all times.

An expression resembling a melancholy smile flitted across Ginevra's face. "That's true, Indeg didn't help." She leaned forward and kissed Arthur on the brow. "Thank you for your understanding. Farewell."

"Farewell."

Yseult stepped forward as Ginevra rose, and together they made their way to the dining area of the lower hall where the others waited.

"Are you quite sure you do not want to take your son with you and put him in Illtud's monastery school?" Yseult asked — one last time.

"I know you do not understand, Yseult," Ginevra said, her voice lifeless. "But I care not what becomes of Melou."

Yseult tried to imagine how she would have felt about Kustennin if Marcus had been his father — the man who had murdered Drystan, his own son. A babe was not responsible for his father's sins. On the other hand, would she have loved Kustennin as much and sacrificed as much for him if she'd thought him Marcus's child? Which he could still be ... Yseult liked to think she would not have loved Kustennin any differently, but of course she could never know for sure.

They entered the dining hall, and the men rose, bowing slightly at the waist. Bedwyr had recovered from the amputation of his forearm, but he remained in Dyn Tagell to see how Arthur got along — and to consult with Arthur and Kustennin on how to go about rebuilding a standing army for the defense of Britain. Arthur had made it clear that he thought Bedwyr and Kustennin should take over from him, although, as the battle of Camlann had shown, it was becoming increasingly difficult to persuade the kings of Britain to stand together — even with the threat of Cerdic not yet banished. Yes, the king of Vectis had fled the battlefield when he saw the tide turning in Arthur's favor, but they all knew he would continue to try and increase his territory when opportunity arose.

Aside from Bedwyr and Kustennin, the men at the table included Cador, Kurvenal, Judual, Illtud, Gildas, and Taliesin. Taliesin had arrived shortly after the battle of Camlann, and Yseult had commissioned him to write a poem about it. With Medraut dead, the stories Arthur's nephew had put about would probably soon be forgotten; nonetheless, it was time to begin their own work of attending to how recent events would be remembered. After all, what were Arthur's deeds without the stories to increase his fame?

Her gaze sought that of Cador. He had Riona balanced on one hip, but even as he tried to bow while holding a squirming toddler, the sight of him still choked her throat with joy. A part of her felt guilty at her own personal happiness, given the tragedy that had befallen her adopted home, but at the same time she knew she must enjoy it while it lasted. At any time, it could be taken from her again.

Illtud and his young acolyte Gildas had traveled together to Dyn Tagell. Illtud would be returning to his monastery with Ginevra — in the company of guards led by Bedwyr. While Illtud headed north, Gildas was to accompany Medraut's sons to Verulamium, where his mother Labiane had found refuge with a cousin. Medraut's former mother-in-law had agreed to take both boys, even though she had no blood ties to Melou. Originally, Arthur's sister Anna had wanted the boys with her in Armorica, but Hoel had threatened to disinherit Budic if she did. For Hoel, Medraut was a stain on the family honor which had to be eradicated.

"Is all ready?" Yseult asked Enid. Her mother-in-law had been in Dyn Tagell now for several weeks, bringing her granddaughter as soon as it was safe to travel. With Medraut's death, his rebellion too had died. Cerdic had shown up shortly thereafter in Venta, proclaiming himself King of the West Saxons, but for the time-being, he appeared content to remain in his new capital city. His losses at the battles of Caer Tamar and Camlann seemed to have been serious enough that he could not immediately return to warring on his neighbors.

Enid nodded. "Meals for the travelers are packed."

"Thank you."

"I was worried we might have to postpone the journey," Bedwyr said. "But my scouts tell me the roads are clear, despite the snow."

"That white stuff barely deserves the name," Cador threw in with a smile. He had limped over to stand beside her, and caught her hand now to give it a brief, affectionate squeeze. She felt a flood of gratitude. Emotion was a selfish thing, she had learned: those she loved most had survived the devastation, her husband, her son, her daughter, her cousin, and she felt all the luckier for that.

"Then let us have the horses made ready and say our farewells," Yseult said.

"Horses!" Riona said, clapping her hands and bouncing on her father's hip.

Cador laughed. "It looks as if we will have to accompany our guests to the stables on the mainland. Would you like to come too, Yseult?"

She nodded.

While she waited for a servant to bring her cloak, she turned to Brangwyn. "Please, promise me you will never enter a convent. Or retreat to the hills of the Feadh Re. Or any other method of retreating from life while you are still living."

Brangwyn shook her head, smiling. "Don't worry, I am neither Ginevra nor our mothers. You and I may be different in temperament and coloring, but I think in this we are very similar."

Yseult sighed. "At one time, my mother probably would have promised the same."

Her cousin shrugged. "If I ever reach the same level of disappointment, then I will just have to break my promise. It would not be the first time. And don't try to claim you never broke a promise either — everyone has, no matter what they might say."