Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (45 page)

They were interrupted by a commotion outside of Arthur's council chambers, female voices both hysterical and placating, accompanied by lightly shod running feet.

Ginevra and her ladies.

She burst into the room in much the same way Peredur had, tears streaming down her face. Half a dozen other women tumbled into the room after her. She stopped several strides into the chamber and glanced from Cai to Arthur and back, as if deciding where to launch her attack.

The choice fell on Cai, and she stormed over to him. Bedwyr stood behind his friend, a determined hand on his shoulder to keep him in his seat.

"How could you? Why? My son?" Ginevra screamed and sobbed at the same time, choking out her barely comprehensible accusations.

"Cai," Bedwyr said, the name a warning.

"I did not kill your son, Madame," Cai said, slowly and carefully. "And I am surprised you should so readily believe the word on the streets."

Ginevra let out a keening howl of anguish and slapped Cai across the face with all the energy in her slight body. Cai's head snapped back from the impact, but he didn't move.

Arthur did.

Grabbing his wife's shoulders, he whirled her around to face him. "Ginevra! Nothing has been proven against my Master of Horse. He does not deserve such treatment."

"And nothing will be proven against him, will it?" Ginevra spat out. "Everyone knows you love your famous companions more than your own kin!"

All the men in the room knew how little there was left to destroy in Arthur's unfortunate marriage, but Kustennin feared they had just witnessed the rending of the last few shreds remaining from almost two decades of incompatibility.

Arthur dropped his hands, as if he could no longer bear to touch the beautiful woman he had married. "Ginevra, not here," he said so low that no one would hear who was not standing next to him — or who did not possess a little of the powers of the Old Race.

Ginevra straightened, lifting her chin. "I demand that Cai be punished."

"It is not your place to demand any such thing."

"Will you have your friend tried?"

Kustennin caught angry thoughts from all over the room. Many even thought Ginevra was acting out of spite, the revenge of a woman scorned. Kustennin caught no such motives from her, however; she truly seemed to believe Cai capable of killing Loholt.

"If the beggar who accused him is found, yes," Arthur was saying now.

"Then let us hope your search is successful." With that, Ginevra whirled on her heel and marched out of the council chamber, followed by her ladies.

As he watched Ginevra's dramatic exit, a feeling of dread clenched Kustennin's chest tight. With this rift between Arthur and Ginevra, something was beginning that would have far-reaching consequences for all of them, he was sure of it.

He turned away, and his gaze caught on Medraut. His face was a blank: no shock, no distress, no anger, no apprehension. Kustennin tried to probe Medraut's mind — and found nothing.

Suddenly Kustennin felt very cold, despite the heat of a high summer day.

* * * *

Arms crossed, Cador walked slowly around the mare, a pale dappled gray, long in the leg and broad in the chest, and did his best to hide his interest. Which wasn't hard at the moment, given the fact that the thought of Yseult was never far from his mind. She'd been gone for over four months now, it was high summer, and he'd received only one letter from her since she arrived in Eriu, a terse confirmation that she was well. But Crimthann was not and she did not know how long she would need to stay in Dun Ailinne.

They had long since learned that Crimthann was dead and there was fighting among the tribes of the Laigin. He could only hope that was not the reason he had not heard from her for so long. Much better if it was only because she did not want to write, given the way they'd parted.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and glanced behind him to his steward Alun. "What do you think?"

Alun rubbed his chin, gazing at the mare. "With her long neck and well-sloped shoulders, she would probably be fast and good for riding."

"That she is!" the owner agreed quickly.

"But if she is as sound as you say, why would you want to sell a healthy mare in foal?" Cador asked, making his voice sound as suspicious as he could manage. The doubts were there, of course, but he could come up with any number of reasons a craftsman or small farmer would bring a prime mare to market after the last few years of harsh winters and bad harvests.

The man confirmed Cador's suspicions. "This harvest doesn't look to be any better than the last, and we're unlikely to have enough grain stored to feed the family through the next winter. I can get a better price for her now than if I wait until we're starving — and all our neighbors with us."

"You are a farmer?"

"Yes, Lord."

"Then I truly can believe her a luxury beyond your means."

"I came by her honestly!" the farmer assured him hurriedly. "I have a cousin who breeds horses and he gave me a good price, as a present for my wife at the birth of our son."

More and more Cador was inclined to pay the man what the fine mare was worth, even though it was clear he could get a much better deal for her, given the farmer's desperation. Cador knew he had a reputation as someone who was inveterately honest; he was often able to use that to his advantage when he visited the local horse fairs, without straining it so much that he might be in danger of losing his reputation. But sometimes, like now, he couldn't resist being as fair as possible.

"If you give me the name and direction of your horse-breeding cousin, I will pay the asking price," Cador said, without dickering.

The farmer's face lit up. "Gladly, Lord!"

Cador motioned Alun to carry out the formalities while he sauntered ahead, inspecting the nearby livestock up for sale. The field outside of Durnovaria where the semi-annual horse fair was held smelled of dung and dust and horse hide, but wandering through the crowds between the pens gave him a measure of comfort. When he had returned to Lindinis after Yseult's departure, there had been plenty to do with the spring planting and then the many ongoing tasks of villa life in summer. For the fourth year in a row, the last freeze was later than usual, meaning the first fruit of the season was later as well, strawberries not ripening until late in June, and cherries not until almost July. But over a dozen mares had given birth to healthy foals, the rest of the summer looked to be warmer than those previous, and Cador was able to find some consolation in watching things grow and flourish.

But always at the back of his mind was the thought that he had sent his wife away — and now she was in Eriu, where battles between the Laigin tribes were raging.

He locked his hands behind his back. He'd been praying for weeks to all the gods of Britain both old and new for word from Yseult, but none had answered.

He was inspecting a showy bay when Alun rejoined him, leading the dappled mare.

Alun shook his head reproachfully. "You could have gotten a much better price for her, you know."

"Yes, I know. But I couldn't take advantage of that man's desperation. And you have to admit she's a beauty. Just last year I would have paid more for her, even haggling."

"That's true too," Alun said grudgingly. "But what are we to do if
you
ever fall on hard times?"

"Avoid horse fairs?"

"Or send someone else."

Cador smiled dutifully, glancing back at the dappled mare. There was a nearly silver sheen to her coat that reminded him of Yseult's moon-bright eyes. With arched neck and aristocratic look and silver-white mane, the mare would make a striking mount for Yseult.

If she ever returned to him.

He worried about her safety, yes, but he also worried that the reason he'd heard nothing was because she was debating whether to come back. He'd sent her away, after all — and he was a fool for doing it. Despite the kiss he'd witnessed and Yseult's letter to Gawain, in the year of their marriage he had grown used to her company. With her gone, there was a gaping hole in his life. No, more than that: he realized now that he still hoped she would one day learn to love him. He was not asking for the kind of love he felt for her, a love that could lie forgotten for years and be rekindled in an unguarded moment of pain. If she could learn to love him the way he loved the land, as somewhere she went for comfort, that would be enough. Yes, deep down he wanted passion, but on a day-to-day basis there were many times during their year of marriage that had come close to being perfect moments, something he could not remember experiencing before. At the end of the day when they would listen to the songs and tales of a traveling bard; or when she would help him with the accounts; or as he consulted quietly with Alun while she wrote a missive to Kustennin or Brangwyn — and then he would glance her way and see her sitting there next to the fire, her long, pale-blond hair unbound and falling over her shoulder, while the flames lent it flickering glints of red and orange, as if the moon had borrowed color from the sun.

At the mere thought, his heart constricted. Whether she loved him or not, he wanted her with him. Perhaps
his
love for
her
would be enough.

He should write again — perhaps his first letter had not made it to Dun Ailinne. As soon as he reached the decision, he felt better. It was not in his nature to be proud and stubborn. He would apologize for the way he'd reacted when he found her writing Gawain — she had wanted to explain, and he hadn't allowed it. But instead of running off to her lover as he'd expected, she had gone to her mother.

"There's a likely stallion," Alun said beside him. "If a bit temperamental," he added as the beast snorted and kicked at a potential buyer.

Cador gazed at the handsome chestnut and shook his head. "Temper can be a good thing in a war horse, but not meanness. In the space of an afternoon, we can hardly determine which it is. Not worth the risk."

"That dun gelding has a sweet step. But you're not in the market for geldings at the moment, are you?"

"We need breeders right now, mostly mares. When and if Arthur goes to Gaul to keep Chlodovech from overrunning Armorica, he'll take a large number of our able-bodied war horses with him."

"Too bad," Alun said, gazing longingly at the gelding that had caught his eye.

"I'd
like
to find a stallion with the right temperament and good bones, but that's not as important," Cador said as they wandered between the many examples of fine horseflesh being offered for sale. "The stallions we have already are enough to service the mares."

Alun stopped and pointed. "Look at that black."

Cador turned in the direction his steward indicated. It was a stallion, and he had just claimed they were lower on his list of priorities. But what a stallion — with a coat of that rare shade of black that glistened almost blue in the sun, not red or brown, as was usually the case with blacks.

He drew in his breath. "I think this horse deserves closer inspection."

Together they wound their way through people and animals to join the crowd gathered around the black. "There will be no special deal to be had for this one," Cador murmured.

"What do you care for deals?" Alun replied. "Seeing as you paid much more than necessary for the mare."

Cador chuckled as he watched the owner put the black through his paces. "A horse like that could sire mounts Cai would go down on his knees for to have in Arthur's cavalry."

"Perhaps another stallion
is
important?"

"Perhaps it is." Cador knew he would never be the expert in horseflesh that Cai was, but over the years he had developed an eye and a feel for it, and he was sure Arthur's Master of Horse would agree with him on this beast. He felt a smile tug the corners of his lips despite all the worries that plagued him. This young stallion would be a pleasure to own and train.

"Trust the King of the Durotriges to have cast his eye on the most impressive animal at the whole fair," came a voice behind him.

Cador turned to see his neighbor to the east, Natanleod, king of the Atrebates in Calleva. Just behind him stood Cerdic, who ruled on the Island of Vectis with his Saxon wife — and who had sided with the Saxons all those years ago at the battle of Caer Baddon.

Cador nodded shortly. "Yes, you come too late; the stallion is taken."

The owner's eyes widened, but he didn't protest. It would not do to refuse to sell to his king. Cador was not happy with himself for using his position to get what he wanted, but neither did he intend to get into a bidding war with Natanleod, or, Gods forbid, Cerdic. He didn't know what kind of foolishness that might cause him to commit.

"Unfortunate," Cerdic said with his winning smile. "But then, you always had a talent for being in the right place at the right time, did you not, Cador?"

"Do you think so?" In the nearly fifteen years since the battle of Caer Baddon, he'd seen Cerdic less than half-a-dozen times, and those only since his daughter's marriage to Natanleod's son. He didn't trust the alliance, and he wasn't the only one.

Cerdic chuckled. "All Britain is asking itself how you won the hand of the Ice Queen of Dumnonia. Did you not know?"