Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur (12 page)

Then suddenly Yseult was there.
Screams and flames, violating the purity of the dark sky. The wood and wattle of the round-houses crackled and spit, as young women ran out into the night, their clothes and hair burning, their shrieks of pain tearing the quiet of the night to shreds. Throwing themselves to the ground, they tried to douse the flames by rolling on the cold ground, thin balls of writhing fire.
Yseult closed her eyes and clenched her fists at her sides.

"Yseult?" Brigid asked, touching her arm. "Is all well?"

Slowly, she returned to the filtered light of an early spring morning in a grove of birch trees, the faint chatter of birds replacing the roar of the flames. She looked briefly at Crimthann and then away. "I'm fine."

"What dreams will you send Lóegaire?" Brigid reminded her gently.

Yseult took a deep breath. A memory of calloused hands and a ready laugh came to her, a memory she had repressed for many, many years. And a more recent memory, of a harp played on Brangwyn's wedding day.

Her father.

"I will send him a dream of appeasing the other powers of Eriu, the powers of the south as well as the north; a dream of the wisdom of having a Christian king on the council. I will send him a dream of Aengus."

"Very wise. Although Aengus has converted to the religion of the Christ, he still respects the old ways. He will bring tolerance to the council."

"Do you think it will help?"

Brigid shrugged. "I do not know, I can only hope. But I do know that there is more than one wise Yseult in the land of Eriu."

It was great praise from the ban file. And Yseult knew that at least one of her childhood dreams was being fulfilled.

* * * *

The next day, they rode straight through to Dun Ailinne, arriving late in the evening, tired, sweaty and cold. The spring was not yet as warm as the sunshine made it appear.

Dun Ailinne, greatest of the seats of the Laigin kings, was large and well-defended, situated on a high hill and surrounded by imposing earthworks. They circled around to the entrance gate on the eastern side, grateful at the thought of a warm fire. Yseult was so tired she had trouble concentrating on her surroundings. After passing through the earthworks, they found themselves on a causeway across a wide ditch which in turn became an inner roadway leading up the hill. There were very few buildings within the ramparts; at Dun Ailinne, the artisans who enjoyed the patronage of the king, the farmers and the traders and the servants, all lived outside the fortifications. The rath served only as a refuge when danger arose, not even the warriors themselves residing within the walls. Round-houses clustered outside the ramparts, in advantageous spots near water or trees or road, sometimes fortified themselves by daub and wattle walls.

Yseult's mother had been put up in one of the few houses within the ramparts and was now standing between the wide double doors below the slanting thatched roof, a smile spreading across her face which Yseult suspected wasn't only for her. She glanced at Crimthann and saw an answering smile on his face; a smile that made even Yseult's throat dry, although it was directed at her mother. Well, Imbolc had come and gone, and now it was Spring. Mother had no eyes for daughter, and son no eyes for father. Yseult glanced at Enna Cennsalach to find him gazing at her with a knowing smile. Yseult shrugged and smiled back.

And then her gaze found Brangwyn beside Aidenn and Murchad. Brangwyn rushed forward, smiling, her father close behind. Murchad took Yseult's waist in his big hands and swung her down from her mare as if she were a doll of thatch, although she was now as tall as any of the Feadh Ree. Brangwyn hugged her tight and pushed her back at arms' length.

"Do you realize this is the longest we have been apart since you first came north with your mother when you were seven and I was nine?"

Yseult nodded and laughed. Over her cousin's shoulder, she saw the way Crimthann headed straight for Yseult the Wise, taking her hands and going to one knee respectfully.

Mother had no eyes for daughter, and son no eyes for father. It was Spring. Yseult smiled and asked Brangwyn and Murchad about life in Dun Ailinne.

* * * *

Queen Yseult sought Crimthann out the next day to thank him in private for bringing her daughter back safely. She had been happier to see him again than was wise, to see his wide smile and intense blue eyes. But it was so sweet to feel this rush of excitement, this exhilarating combination of fear and anticipation. She had felt it with Aengus, but not with Lóegaire. Their relationship had been pleasant enough at first, but for her, infatuation had never played a role.

She found the prince at the house of druids, in consultation with Laidcenn.

"Lady," Crimthann said. "Well met. I would have sought you out later today. I have something to broach to you."

The queen repressed the impulse to exclaim, "You do?" and inclined her head in acknowledgment.

"We will discuss the details later," Crimthann said to Laidcenn and turned to her, taking her elbow and leading her out of the round-house.

When they were no longer within hearing of the house of druids, the prince spoke. "I would have waited, even impatient as I am, would have courted you as you deserve, but my father has forced my hand."

Even Yseult the Wise could not come up with a clever answer for Crimthann's sudden directness. "What do you mean?"

"A subject king of my father's has died, leaving no one in the kinship group old enough to rule at Ard Ladrann. He has asked me to take over the rath until the eligible youths have proved themselves in battle and a vote can be taken."

The queen glanced at him, her heart wrenching. "Then you will be leaving Dun Ailinne."

"I could not stay here forever." He stopped and released her elbow, stepping in front of her, his blue eyes locking with hers. "Will you come with me?"

He was asking her as a man asks a woman, not as a young king asks the kingmaker; not as she had been asked before.

"Are you also making a claim on the sovereignty of Eriu?" she asked with a wan smile.

She caught a feeling of frustration and powerlessness from him, and that in turn gave her irrational hope.

"You will always be more than a desirable woman, as you know," he said, gripping his hands behind his back. "And I am an ambitious man. I cannot deny that."

A mirthless chuckle escaped her. "'Always' is too long. According to the Christian fili, I am no more than a woman without a choice."

"You will
always
be more than that to most of us. To me."

"Best make no promises, Crimthann. You too may one day find it more practical to adopt the religion of the Christ."

"Not with one of their wise men locked up in my father's seat at Rath Bile," he said with a laugh. He took her hand, and the blue of his eyes grew brighter. "Now I would rather woo the land."

His voice was low and intense. Queen Yseult drew in a quick breath; she definitely saw more in his thoughts than kingship.

"Do you think to persuade me to spend the required three nights with you?" she asked, showing a flirtatiousness she didn't know she possessed — or had long ago forgotten.

He raised her hand to his lips deliberately, turned it over, and placed a kiss on her palm, his tongue briefly touching her skin, right there in plain view of the residents of Dun Ailinne. "If you spend three nights with me, Lady," he said, his voice low and intimate, "I swear by all the gods of my tribe that you will gladly spend more."

Queen Yseult willed her heartbeat to slow but with little success. No, here was no niggardliness, she thought, more than satisfied.

"I will accompany you."

* * * *

Yseult was not going to run again. She watched her mother's party depart south for Ard Ladrann, her uncle Murchad's arm tight around her shoulders, and brushed a vagrant tear out of the corner of her eye. A morning breeze ruffled the white-blond hair at her temples, but the sun on her cheeks was warm. She watched until the party disappeared behind a stand of trees next to the road and turned back with Murchad to the ramparts of Dun Ailinne and the battles to be fought against the Ui Neill to the north and the kings of Venedotia and Dumnonia across the sea.

As the following months became a year and then more than a year, she followed her uncle rather than her mother. Together they defended the settlements of the Tuatha Dé Danann and furthered the interests of the Laigin, who offered their people refuge from the tribes of the north. But despite their efforts, more and more of the Feadh Ree retreated into the Sidhe, disappearing like spirits into the Otherworld.

Including Nemain. Murchad never mentioned her, but Yseult knew he thought of her when his gaze went beyond the walls of the rath and the smile left his eyes. She never said anything. She did no more than lay a hand on his shoulder or bring him a mug of fresh mead or a goblet of cider.

That year was not an easy one, but for Yseult at least it was better than the year before, better than fleeing Lóegaire and taking refuge at the sacred site of Druim Dara. Now she accompanied the warbands of Enna Cennsalach on raids and skirmishes, riding beside Murchad, tending to the injured, and sometimes even fighting herself. When her uncle went raiding across the seas, she accompanied the sons of Dunlaing, Illann and Ailbe, or Crimthann's brothers Eochu or Faelan, or even Enna Cennsalach himself.

Her reputation grew until Yseult could not recognize herself in the stories told of her. She was still more healer than warrior, but she was one of the few women who dressed in boiled leather and wielded a spear on the back of her mount. In the tales, however, she led the war bands into battle, tall in the saddle of her white mare, her white blond hair wild around her face, her white shield warding off all blows, Yseult the Fair, invincible and feared, the beauty and the pride of Eriu. Yseult laughed and shook her head when the songs were sung, but she would not have been a daughter of her homeland if she had not been pleased.

And most of the royal sons of the Laigin had begun to court her. Yseult smiled when they claimed they wanted her for her fearlessness in battle and her wisdom in helping save Brehon law, laughed when they sang of her braid the color of the moon and her eyes the color of a winter lake. Now she understood what it meant to be the daughter of the kingmaker. She was already sixteen, and she liked Illann and Ailbe, Eochu and Faelan, liked all of them well enough, but there was no one she cared to share a house with, no one she cared to leave her uncle for.

The demands of being the champion of Dun Ailinne often made it necessary for Murchad to leave
her
, however. He never took her on the raids against their Bretain enemies, saying they were too dangerous, and at some point she learned to stop begging to go along.

This time, the trip would not be a raid; instead, he would be traveling to Dumnonia to return Bretain hostages the Laigin had captured from Lóegaire and demand hostages of their own in return. Enna Cennsalach wanted the kings on the other side of the waters to see with their own eyes that Lóegaire was no longer undisputed High King of Eriu.

"Have a good journey, Uncle," she said, going up on tip-toe to kiss his cheek — while he leaned down. He was the only man she knew who was so tall that she had to do that, and she smiled.

Murchad put both arms around her shoulders and hugged her tight. "And you take care of the warriors of Dun Ailinne."

Yseult laughed against his chest. "I will."

Her uncle gave her another squeeze before releasing her. "And thank you, Yseult."

"For what?"

He rubbed his knuckles against her cheek. "For staying with your old uncle."

She grabbed his big hand and kissed the back. "Thank you for having me."

He ruffled her hair and then, waving goodbye, turned to mount a bay gelding.

Yseult would remember that moment the rest of her life.

* * * *

It was a late summer day well over a year after her mother had left with Crimthann for Ard Ladrann, after Lugnasad and just before the harvest was to begin. Yseult was returning from a successful raid with Illann's war party, leading a herd of almost four dozen cattle captured to the northeast near Uisneach. Beside her rode Prince Illann, tall and fair. He had the height and coloring of the Feadh Ree, only in his case the moonlight was mixed with a touch of earth. They flirted and joked as they rode. Yseult was hot and dusty and tired from several days on the road, and she desperately wanted a bath, but her mood was high.