Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (20 page)

Yseult reached out a hand to him between their two mounts. "How could that possibly happen? Cador, you are my
friend
."

He took the proffered hand briefly, then squeezed and released it. "Thank you."

He wanted more, of course, but there were worse things than being friends. It occurred to him that he had been torturing himself with images of a bleak future that did not have to happen. While all the time he was overlooking the wonderful change in his fortunes that was causing his worries.
His future would be with Yseult.

Perhaps it was simply the fact that his mind could not grasp something becoming a reality that he had been dreaming of so long, and thus he forced himself to twist it into negatives.

Being a fool.

It was true, she did not love him. She was marrying him out of practicality and affection and the conviction that with him there would be dependability rather than passion. Her life of grand passion, the many years she had loved Drystan illicitly and without hope, were not something she wanted to repeat, and if she knew how passionately, how hopelessly Cador had loved
her
all these years, she would probably run screaming from a marriage with him.

But she didn't know. And once they were married, he would have the opportunity to win her, perhaps even teach her that there could be passion without sorrow. He would probably have regular opportunities to be jealous of a ghost, a memory, but he would be the one there with her in the morning when they woke up, he would be the one to brush the stray strand of hair away from her temple when they consulted about the planting in the spring, or the needs and concerns of the peasants on their land, or stewards for their various properties; he would have her days and her nights.

He swallowed. He had to distract himself from such thoughts. "There are any number of things we must still discuss, but I'm curious, have you given any thought to where you would want to live?"

Yseult smiled. "A wealth of residences."

"Precisely."

"I would like to spend at least part of the summer in Dyn Tagell, if you are agreeable with that."

"Certainly. It is a kind of home to me too, you know, from the years I spent in fosterage with Marcus." He drew in a deep breath; he was discussing
sharing a home
with Yseult. "But I would like to be at the Lindinis villa in the spring and fall. I know the overseers can take care of the planting and harvesting themselves, but I fear in the years of peace I have developed the soul of a farmer."

There, it was out — but she just smiled. "In Eriu, every king is a farmer. I will feel very much at home with a farmer king."

"I am glad."

It was a generous speech, a speech that should have warmed the lonely edges of his heart. But he still could not banish the insecurity completely. Yes, he would be marrying Yseult — whose love for Drystan was legendary. And whose present lover was the legendary warrior Gawain.

Was the ghost of Drystan his greatest rival — or was it the living hero?

Chapter 11

St. Gildas was the contemporary of Arthur, the king of the whole of Britain, whom he loved exceedingly, and whom he always desired to obey. Nevertheless his twenty-three brothers constantly rose up against the aforementioned rebellious king, refusing to own him as their lord; but they often routed and drove him out from forest and battlefield. Hueil, the elder brother, an active warrior and most distinguished soldier, submitted to no king, not even to Arthur. He used to harass the latter, and to provoke the greatest anger between them both. He would often swoop down from Scotland, set up conflagrations, and carry off spoils with victory and renown.

Caradoc of Llangarfan, "The Life of Gildas"

Every day Gildas spent at the monastery was another day he hated Cador and Kustennin more. The only problem was, he couldn't hate Cador, because his foster father had probably saved his life. But he wanted to, because Cador was the reason he was in this miserable monastery in the first place.

He would just have to be content with hating Kustennin.

From what he heard, Kustennin was now fighting for Arthur, making a hero of himself. He'd helped take back Dyn Tagell from a traitorous sub-king and the "Sons of Caw," and now he was earning more praise and glory in battles along the Sabrina Estuary.

While Gildas had spent the last months in a pig sty.

He threw the slops over the fence into the pen, and the pigs began grunting happily at the leftovers. Gildas hated their squealing, the way it went from bass low to hysterical high, hated the way they wallowed in their own offal, hated their smell and their obesity; most of all, he hated that he had to feed them. His life in the villa outside of Lindinis with Cador had not been pleasant, not like his early childhood in Bro Leon with his mother, where his every wish was tended to, sometimes before he even voiced it. At least in Lindinis he had not been lowered to feeding the pigs.

Arthur was the one he should hate, he knew that well enough. But he'd only met Arthur a handful of times, and on those occasions the Dux Bellorum never did anything more than pat Gildas on the shoulder. It was hard to hate someone who had no more feelings for you than a pat.

Cador, on the other hand, had tried to play uncle to Gildas for years, while always preferring Kustennin, the spoiled son of that Erainn whore.

"Gildas! Visitors for you! Where are you, lad?"

Where should he be?
That was easy enough for anyone at the monastery to know — he was the newest, so he was doing the dirtiest jobs.

Gildas threw down the wooden bucket and wiped his hands on his tunic. "Coming, Dafydd!"

"They are waiting for you in the church," the monk said.

As Gildas entered the church, it finally occurred to him to wonder who could possibly be visiting him. Had agents of Arthur found him after all?

And then he saw his sister Cwylli rise with a bundle in her arms. The baby! For the first time, Gildas was hit by the fact that he was now an uncle.

"Cwylli!" He ran the rest of the way and flung his arms around her, careful not to hurt the babe. Having his big sister here was like being blessed with a touch of home, and he found himself rubbing tears away on the shoulder of her gown. But of course he had no home anymore; a cousin he'd never met ruled in Bro Leon, and his mother had found refuge with Arthur's sister Anna.

"Gildas!" She pushed him back at arm's length, laughing. "How glad I am that you are safe."

"It is good to see you, Cwylli. The birth went well?"

She shrugged. "It was long. But your nephew is healthy." She pushed the blankets back from the baby's face and extended him for Gildas's inspection. He presumed he was now supposed to admire, and he did his best to make the right noises.

"Isn't he beautiful?" his sister gushed.

Gildas agreed. "How did you find me?" he asked. "Does Arthur know?"

She shook her head. "Cador told me where you had 'run away,' and I had a messenger sent to the monasteries nearby where you might have found refuge."

Cador again — it appeared Gildas had even more reason to be grateful to him. Unfortunately.

They sat down on a hard wooden pew, Cwylli's guards not far away. With a friendly wave, Brother Dafydd left them alone.

"But if
you
can discover where I am —" Gildas began.

Cwylli shook her head. "Cador told no one but me that you 'might' have sought refuge. And it has not been easy discovering your whereabouts. Besides, Arthur is busy elsewhere."

"Fighting our brothers."

Cwylli shrugged. "They are no brothers to me. They must have known their raids would put us at risk."

Gildas pursed his lips: he refused to see it that way. Arthur was the one who had threatened him, not his brothers in the north.

She laughed and hugged him close. "It matters not. I am just glad you are safe."

"Have you come to take me away from here?"

The expression of joy left her face again. "I am afraid I cannot. It is not yet safe for you."

"Is it safe for you?" Gildas asked, suddenly realizing how thoughtless he'd been. She was a
daughter
of Caw, after all.

"I am treated well enough. Medraut is fighting for his uncle Arthur."

There was more than she was telling him, he knew it. Gildas clenched his hands in his lap. He should be defending his sister; instead, he was stuck here in hiding, feeding the pigs.

"I will come and get you as soon as it is safe," she promised, misinterpreting his expression.

Cwylli stayed the rest of the day, and the monks freed Gildas from his duties, an unprecedented luxury. But all too soon the sun began to incline towards the horizon, and she had to return to the inn where she'd booked rooms for herself and her men. Gildas accompanied them to the yard, wishing they could take him along — and knowing it would be impossible for him to go to Caer Leon just yet.

"Take heart, Gildas," Cwylli said as one of the soldiers helped her mount her mare. "As soon as the fighting is over, I'll be back."

He watched his sister and her men canter down the lane leading away from the monastery until they were out of sight, fighting back the hope that threatened to overcome him. He knew from experience that promises were no more than words, easily spoken and just as easily forgotten. It would do no good to expect things to change. He would be much less miserable if he reconciled himself to the fact that he would be feeding slops to the pigs for some time to come. In the last few years, disappointment had become a habit, so it was easy enough to damper the initial rush of optimism.

By the time his head hit the hard pallet of the monastery bed that night, his normal expectation of wretchedness had returned, making him feel much more comfortable.

* * * *

Cador did not have much time to enjoy the fact that he was now betrothed to the woman he'd loved for half his life. The day after they announced their plans to marry, Arthur gave orders to ride north and rejoin the army besieging the Mount of Frogs.

There would be no harvest for him this year.

At least Arthur granted him leave to see Yseult home. He accompanied her and her men to Dyn Tagell, where he gave her into Brangwyn's astonished care (and he thought he even recognized a hint of quiet joy). But after inspecting the progress of the repairs — and accepting the congratulations of all — he was riding northeast, away from his betrothed and towards the enemy Picts.

* * * *

Cador to Yseult, greetings.

I fear I do not have much progress to report in the siege of the Mount of Frogs. Access to the beacon site is difficult, only on little-known paths through a treacherous, marshy area. We have guides who could show us the way, but snaking slowly along single file, our men would be excellent targets for archers on the walls.

Thus we bide our time and kick our heels and keep the paths closed, trying to starve the invaders out. I do not know why Arthur was so eager to gather us all here — a much smaller force would do the trick just as well. I could have spent the time much better at Lindinis for the harvest, or with you, planning our wedding next summer. Arthur has suggested a date around the Pentecost festivities, as it is a traditional time for the kings of Britain to meet. What say you? What location would you suggest?

Kustennin is well. I know he is not a great correspondent, despite his many years in fosterage with me, but he sends his greetings.

I hope this letter finds you in good health and that repairs in Dyn Tagell proceed apace.

Your Cador

Yseult to Cador, greetings.

I am sorry to hear that Arthur sees no way of taking back the Mount of Frogs quickly. Starving out a hill-fort is a long process, and I do not want to imagine you still in a military camp when the first snows come. On the other hand, I have been to the Mount of Frogs a handful of times myself and remember the difficult approach well. As little as I wish you and Kustennin still besieging it into the winter, even less do I want to imagine you storming the ramparts through the sucking mud, without siege engines — for I am quite sure they would be impossible to drag or push through the swamp.

But I will rely on Arthur's excellent military assessment of the situation. I am sure he will decide what is best.

Progress on the rebuilding in Dyn Tagell is steady. The outer walls of the mainland fort are almost complete. Although the weather here is already becoming uncomfortable, I may remain in Dyn Tagell through the winter. Not only is there still much to do, I have not spent so much time with my cousin Brangwyn for years, and I find her company a joy, despite her acerbic tongue.

I am very grateful you write. Give my love to Kustennin. Hopefully it will not be too much longer before we will have the opportunity to work out the details of our wedding. What do you think of Isca?

Your Yseult

* * * *

Cador lowered the thin sheets of wood containing Yseult's words and smiled, despite the dismal weather beyond the flap of his tent.
She was thinking about preparations for their wedding
. Of course, it was logical enough, but part of him still expected her to back out. Wanting to fix on a location was a good thing.