Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (33 page)

The volume of the cheering rose, and the villagers and soldiers crowded around them, tripping on the headless body of Bertilak in their fervor.

It was certainly an odd setting for the beginning of a new life. But Gawain already found himself nearly reconciled to Ragnell's previous deceit, even without her explanation. He wouldn't think about the woman somewhere whose revenge had been thwarted, wouldn't think about how much of his sudden joy might have to do with his wife's extraordinary powers.

There were worse things in life than having a beautiful wife, with a seat fit for a king. That was what he would think of now — and hopefully for some time to come.

Book IV

Love Wasted

Chapter 16

If I were a king's son

I would give you a white hound

In a leash of silver,

I would give you a white stallion

From over the sea....

You would talk with me

In the bright-coloured palace:

You would be glad at my coming,

If I were a king's son.

Ella Young, "A Song that Trostan Made"

Yseult handed the bag of herbs to the farmer. The small house where she administered to the people of Lansyen and Voliba was full of teas and tinctures and oils. Now, in March, before the first healing plants began to grow and bloom again, the smell was somewhat muted because the herbs were dried and stored away, but in summer and fall it would be full of tied bundles of aromatic rosemary and lemon balm and sage and many more, hanging from the ceiling to dry.

"You can count to one hundred?" she asked.

Talek bowed his head and nodded. "Yes, Queen Yseult."

She was no longer his queen, technically speaking, had not been since Marcus's death, but Yseult let that pass. She knew that for the people here around Lansyen and in the nearby town of Voliba, she would be their queen as long as she lived. As long as they wanted it that way and her son was amenable, she was happy to play the role. These people had saved her life when her husband had done his best to see her burned at the stake. And Talek was one of those who had been there, had dressed in rags and painted leprous lesions on his skin to persuade Marcus that she would suffer more if left to them.

But as much as she owed him, she was not going to tell him that the bag of herbs was more than just a mixture to help his wife recover from the miscarriage, her second now. Since Yseult had known the farmer, his wife Keyna had borne him eight children, six of whom had survived. Now the poor woman's body needed a rest — as the recent miscarriages proved. Keyna had been little more than a girl when Yseult had assisted at the birth of their firstborn, a girl they'd named after her. Many years of farm work and childbirth since, Keyna looked at least a decade older than Yseult.

She couldn't do anything about the farm work, but she could try to do something for the incessant pregnancies. Not only did the mixture contain yarrow and chamomile, there were also herbs effective for keeping a child from taking root in the womb, such as rue and the seed of wild carrot. "Steep a spoonful of the herbs to the count of one hundred and give your wife a cup twice a day. It should reduce the pain and help her recovery."

Talek bowed. "Thank you, Lady!"

Yseult accompanied him to the door of the hut, closing it behind them. "Tell Keyna I will come to see her tomorrow. We want to have your wife up and about again as soon as possible."

"We will be honored."

Yseult would have a few private words with Keyna. She didn't know if the family ascribed to the church's teachings that it was wrong to prevent pregnancy, but she hoped the younger woman would consider it. She had already borne so many children, her body was worn out, and she needed to stay alive for the others. If Keyna was willing, Yseult would teach her some of the herbs which could help her avoid becoming pregnant yet again, and then she would not have to rely on Yseult's infrequent stays in this part of Dumnonia. Of course, no treatment was perfect, but a little parsley, wild carrot seed, and willow bark, if taken regularly at the right time, could certainly help avoid conception. Yseult had been using those herbs regularly for years.

She took the path back to the hill-fort, wrapping her cloak tightly around her body. The mist was thick and the air cold, but at least during the sunny days this past week the snow had melted. It had been yet another harsh winter, the fourth in a row now.

"Has Cador returned from hunting yet?" she asked the guard as she entered the gate.

"No, Lady."

The main hall was pleasantly warm from a fire burning in the central fire pit. Lansyen was much more primitive than Cador's villa outside of Lindinis, but Yseult still had much fondness for this place and the people who lived here.

And, she had to admit, for Drystan's grave nearby.

As she was hanging up her cloak, her servant Sevi found her. "There is a letter for you from Brangwyn, Lady."

Yseult took the sealed sheets of wood. "Excellent, thank you."

Sevi nodded. "Tell me if there is any news of Judual."

"I will." Sevi had been Judual's wet nurse when he was a baby, and she still had a special affection for Brangwyn's foster son.

Yseult broke the seal and opened the letter.

Brangwyn to Yseult, greetings.

I hope this letter finds you well. It has been another harsh winter, and there was much sickness in the mainland village of Dyn Tagell. Illtud and his knowledge of herbs are sorely missed. I do what I can, of course, but my knowledge of healing does not come close to yours. Perhaps you can come Dyn Tagell before returning to Lindinis with Cador?

Yseult smiled at that. In the years they had been apart, Brangwyn's knowledge of healing had probably surpassed Yseult's.

She glanced back down at the letter.

Kurvenal was recently in Aquae Sulis, and the talk was all of surprising news, which I do not know if you have heard — Gawain is wed! He went north before Christmas to aid a princess of Elmet, a young cousin of Arthur's first wife. Not only did Gawain defeat the rogue warrior who had taken her family's seat, he also married the princess Ragnell. I hear it is a very romantic story, the likes of which will soon be sung throughout Britain.

I look forward to seeing you again and gossiping of this and other things, like cousins and friends. Greetings from Kurvenal and Judual, and our love to Cador.

Your Brangwyn

Yseult stared at the scratches on the thin wooden sheets in her hand, hardly able to believe the words staring up at her. She sank down into the nearest chair, her hands falling into her lap, still holding the letter. As she gazed at the hangings brightening the walls, the colors swam together to the point where she could make no sense of the figures woven into the fabric, even though she knew them all better than the curve of her husband's wrist. It was odd; she should be happy for Gawain — she had rejected him, after all — but her stomach was cramping with something that felt like jealousy. She had no right to feel this way, she knew that well enough, but still, Brangwyn's news conjured memories of Gawain swearing he had never known another woman like her, memories of his warrior's body in the firelight, of his grim expression when she had last seen him on the road from Caer Gwent to Glevum.

When he had kissed her.

No, this reaction was foolishness, it was beneath her; of course she wished Gawain all the joy in the world. But —
it is a very romantic story, the likes of which will soon be sung throughout Britain.
Not like Yseult's practical, political marriage.

Yseult knew that Brangwyn was trying to warn her, give her the news before she heard the story in verse, unprepared for what the tale held. Did Gawain now truly have that kind of love, the love of which songs are made, the kind of love she'd had with Drystan?

She hadn't wanted another love like that, a love that was the stuff legends. It had torn her apart, had dominated her life for years. After Drystan's death, she had slowly built a life for herself in which she was in control, a life in which passion played no part.

Nonetheless, she found herself recalling how Gawain had claimed to love her more than he had ever loved another woman — and wondering how he could have found a mate for life so soon. Which of course was absurd, since she had chosen to marry another man. She dropped the letter, clenching her hands at her sides, angry at herself for the emotions she could not control, foolish, foolish thoughts.

"What is it, mistress?" Sevi asked. "Is the news from Dyn Tagell bad?"

Yseult shook her head. "No, no bad news. Just surprising. And nothing of Judual, I'm afraid."

Sevi shrugged. "Better than bad news, I'm sure."

"You have the right of it there."

"Is there anything you require, Lady?"

"No, thank you, Sevi."

As the maidservant left again, Yseult gazed back down at the letter, doing her best to regain her normal self-possession.

Unfortunately, she was not given enough time. The door of the hall was thrown open and Cador strode in, followed by his men.

Seeing her sitting there, letter in hand, he crossed the room to her, his cape still swirling around his ankles. "What is it? What's the matter?"

Yseult rose, trying to smile, and handed the letter to him. "Nothing's the matter. There is some surprising news, however."

He scanned Brangwyn's lines and then glanced at her critically. "It certainly is surprising. But I'm glad to hear it is nothing disturbing."

His gaze was too penetrating, too perceptive. "How did the hunting go?" she asked to change the subject.

"Well." He handed the letter back to her and undid the clasp at his throat, holding his cloak to the servant who appeared at his elbow. "We brought down a healthy fallow deer buck. There will be plenty of venison until we leave for Lindinis again."

She laid her hand on his elbow and drew him towards the fire. "Excellent news. Any leftover meat can be smoked."

It seemed a silly conversation suddenly, although they might well have spoken the same words even had the letter from Brangwyn never arrived. But now they were play-acting, ignoring the subject that was at the front of both their minds.

"We brought a brace of rabbits as well," Cador continued. "They will be delivered directly to the cook."

"Good. Fresh rabbit stew tonight."

They settled into chairs near the fire. "And how was your day?" Cador asked.

Yseult told him about Keyna's miscarriage and how she intended to speak with the woman personally the next day. "I can give her the necessary herbs, but that will only last so long. I thought I would try to teach her something of herbal lore, enough to collect what she needs in the spring and summer. It is a bit of a dilemma, though; some of the herbs can be dangerous if used incorrectly. I will have to consider carefully what to advise."

Cador leaned forward, his expression concerned. "Are you too taking herbs that could be dangerous?"

"Many healing plants can also be poisonous." She shrugged. "Besides, you are the one insisting I use my knowledge of herbs to avoid pregnancy — I would be happy not to take them."

"No."

"I'm not that old, Cador. Childbirth doesn't have to be dangerous."

"No."

Yseult glanced down into her lap — and saw Brangwyn's letter still in her hand, reminding her of the news in contained.

Cador stood up abruptly. "I will leave you to your contemplation of herbs. I need to change clothes and wash before supper."

She did not watch him leave. What had happened to her, to the two of them? They had been moving forward, she thought — and now this. But what was "this"? Merely news from her cousin that her former lover had suddenly married, and a completely inappropriate reaction on Yseult's part.

She clenched her hands in her lap and leaned her head back on the chair.

Yseult did not see Cador again until supper, and then all that was between them was stiff formality and conversation consisting of the occasional question and monosyllabic answer. Somehow they made it through the interminable meal — of excellent fresh rabbit in a sauce of onions and dried apples. Yseult excused herself early and went to bed, but she was still awake when Cador joined her (Lansyen did not have the luxury of separate bedchambers), stumbling into the furniture and smelling of wine.

They spent the night lying stiffly next to each other, neither sleeping much. Yseult found herself wondering if she actually had been falling in love with Gawain after all, and had just denied it to herself out of some fear she didn't understand.

She might be able to read other people's minds and hearts, but her own feelings were a mystery to her.

* * * *

"Did the tea I sent with your husband ease your pains?" Yseult asked, slipping off her cloak and hanging it on a peg next to the door of the farmer's cottage.

Keyna pushed herself up on her elbows and threw her legs over the edge of the bed, the largest in the round house and closest to the fire. The modest home consisted of a single room — not so very different from the round houses Yseult had grown up in as a princess in Eriu.