Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur (67 page)

When the memories came back, she remained bundled in the blankets for a moment, trying to fathom the joy and the pain: of lying here, of being alive, of being torn from her son. Drystan lay next to her, still sleeping — but when would she see Kustennin again?

At least she was alive. She would come up with something.

She sat up, careful not to wake Drystan. He was sleeping the deep sleep of those who had suffered a severe blow to the head. She leaned over him carefully, trying to see if he displayed any discoloration around the eyes, but the light from the mouth of the cave was too dim.

Yseult pushed aside the blankets and rose, leaving the cave quietly. The hideout Talek had found for them was set in the side of a hill marking the incline to the moor to the north. A few paces below the cave was a small clearing. She took stock of her surroundings while collecting wood for the fire, all the while keeping her mind open to detect the presence of others.

Next to the clearing, the stream was dammed in one spot by a tumble of boulders, forming a little natural pool — the ice melted again now, luckily — and over her head arched green pine and bare oak, the buds not yet beginning to show. She had seen many such clearings in her life without giving them a second glance, but this one was achingly beautiful; yesterday at this time, she had thought she would no longer be alive today.

And at the same time, her heart was breaking. She slipped to the ground next to the oak, leaning her back against the rough bark, wondering how she could possibly hold two such conflicting emotions in her heart at the same time. The thought of Kustennin, far away, without her, closed her throat with anguish, but out here in the cold morning air, with the late winter sun in the sky and the birds chattering in the trees above, the relief of still breathing was almost more joy than she could stand. Even her fear for Drystan could not keep her from loving the smell of the damp earth and the sound of the stream, from feeling a hard lump of happiness form just below her rib cage.

She took a deep breath and rose. Misery would catch up with her again soon enough.

After depositing the firewood she had gathered just inside the mouth of the cave, she found a pathway up the side of the hill. Out of the trees, the sun seemed warmer, and she loosened the ties of her cloak a little, letting it hang open. When she reached the top of the incline, she could see a massive dolmen of the ancient ones dark against the sky, three stones with a large, flat stone on top. Yseult smiled. They were in a place of power, a good sign for Drystan's recovery.

Drystan was stirring when she returned to the cave. He pushed himself up, and looked around. "I — where am I?"

Yseult went over to him and pushed him back into the blankets. The light was better now, and sure enough, dark circles had developed around his eyes. "We are in a cave some of the good local people found for us."

She watched as memory began to find its way back into his mind, and his tired eyes widened. "My father — how ..."

"We escaped," she said quickly, not wanting him to tax his tired brain too much. "Now we must hide until you are recovered." She had seen this among warriors who had taken a head injury in battle; they would continue fighting, often for as long as the battle continued, but when it was over or they awoke the next day, their minds would be like a landscape clouded with fog and they would sleep for days at a time.

"I remember so little," Drystan murmured.

"You don't have to," she said, pulling the blankets over him again. "Now what you must do is rest."

She sat next to him, holding his hand, and watched him drift back into sleep. She would not be able to rely on him for anything for a while. When he did finally wake up for any length of time, he would be dizzy and weak.

That afternoon, she had a visitor. She was keeping her mind open at all times, watchful of any threat, and she felt Brangwyn's presence even before she saw her. Hurrying out of the cave, she saw her cousin dismounting from a sturdy farm horse.

"Brangwyn!"

Yseult hurried into her cousin's arms and held her tight, more grateful for her friend than she had ever been in her life. And finally Brangwyn's mind was no longer closed to her, and she could feel pain and joy that reflected her own confused state of mind.

They pushed back and held each other at arm's length.

"How is Kustennin?" Yseult asked, feeling her voice crack on her son's name.

Brangwyn cupped her cheek in her palm and Yseult leaned into the hand. "He misses you and asks for you constantly. But it's not as bad as it was during the Christmas holiday when you went away for Arthur's wedding; at least then he had a chance to get used to not always having you near."

Yseult was glad he was not suffering, but part of her soul wished he missed her as much as she missed him. But that part had no place here, now.

She straightened and looked into Brangwyn's eyes. "And how are things at Lansyen?"

Her cousin let out a snorting sound vaguely resembling a laugh, and Yseult could see her memories of servants being slapped across the room and hear the angry voice.

"Will Marcus cast you out?" she asked.

Brangwyn shook her head. "I think he would have if Kustennin weren't so attached to me — or there were anyone else the child would listen to with you gone."

Yseult sighed and wiped a stray tear out of the corner of her eye. What was she going to do, not knowing when she would see Kustennin again? "I am glad you're still there for him."

"Yes, and for Judual as well." Brangwyn stepped back, and her mind closed to Yseult again. Most likely her cousin didn't want her to feel her reproach, but Yseult knew it was there. Through her obsession for Drystan, she had lost her son, had almost lost her life.

Yseult turned away and stroked the neck of the stocky gray horse. "How did you get away from Lansyen?"

Brangwyn came around the other side of the horse and began to undo the ties on the satchel. "I used my power of changing. Talek met me in our modest house of healing, and we left together — as man and wife. He knows of our powers now."

Yseult nodded. That was the least of her cares at the moment.

"From there, I accompanied him to his home and borrowed Mist." Brangwyn patted the plough horse on the rump. He turned his head and snorted at her gently. She rummaged around in the satchel and drew out several bags smelling of dried herbs. "Talek told me how Drystan fared, so I brought what I could. I have lavender, walnut, sage and rosemary for the affliction of the brain. For Drystan's bruises and external injuries, I brought comfrey, agrimony and mallow. You must let me know if there is something else you want from among our stores."

Yseult accepted the medicines, feeling her eyes well up with tears. She dashed them away with the back of her hand. "Any other news from Lansyen?"

Brangwyn closed the saddlebag again. "Marcus had all your things burned, and he probably would have left for Isca immediately if he weren't still looking for Drystan. But at least he believes you are dead." She came around next to Yseult and opened the other saddlebag, drawing out a package of tightly rolled fabric. "I brought you some clothes from myself and Sevi. They may not fit well, but at least you will have a change of clothing or can layer them for warmth as you see fit."

Yseult accepted the garments and took Brangwyn in another embrace. Her throat closed up and she couldn't speak for a while.

"What of Kurvenal?" she finally asked.

Brangwyn looked away, her hands clenched in her skirts. "Marcus sent him away. Before he left, he told me he would go to Arthur at Celliwig, tell him what happened and seek his help in getting Drystan away safely."

Her cousin's mind was still closed to her; perhaps that was just as well now. "I'm sure Arthur will help."

Brangwyn could not stay long or her presence would be missed. She often spent hours gathering herbs or administering to the sick and injured, but if someone happened to seek her out while she wasn't there, questions might be asked.

Yseult watched her friend disappear between the trees, wondering how all this would end.

* * * *

The next day was damp and unpleasant, and after Yseult had fetched water, she sat at the mouth of the cave, watching the wet world outside. Given the unpleasant weather, she was that much more surprised when she had another visitor.

Talek dismounted from the same plodding gray draft horse Brangwyn had ridden into the clearing the day before, and Yseult pulled the hood of her cape over her head and went out to meet him.

"I didn't expect visitors in this rain. What brings you here today, Talek?"

The farmer gave a short bow and pulled a bundle out of his saddlebags. "I brought fresh bread and extra clothes for the prince," he said as he followed her into the cave. "And I have news, Lady."

She looked at him sharply. The fire she stoked regularly to keep Drystan from taking a chill cast flickering shadows on his lined face. "What news is that?"

"A body washed up near the port of Voliba. A man. Much of the flesh was eaten away, but what was left of the hair was a long golden brown."

Yseult gazed at him. "Are you responsible for this?"

Talek returned her look steadily, not glancing away, and there was no murder there when she probed his mind. "We committed no sin, I swear it. But when opportunity arose, we made the best of it."

Yseult did not press him for more, leaving him the rest of his secret.

"Marcus has declared his son dead," he continued when she said nothing. "The search was called off today, and he will be returning to Isca as soon as the weather allows."

"That truly is news," Yseult said, stretching her hands out to the fire, trying to chase away the cold that suddenly crept into her soul. While it meant that she and Drystan would be safer, especially once he was well enough to travel, it also meant that Marcus would take his household, including Kustennin, farther away.

"How fares the prince?" Talek asked.

Yseult drew a deep breath, trying not to give in to the tears that had her in their grip so often these days. "He sleeps as much as a newborn. But when he is awake, he is rational enough, even though he becomes dizzy easily. He will recover."

The farmer gave a grunt of approval. "Good. But it is as he said on the way here, he cannot hunt."

She shook her head. "I will have to hunt for us. I have little else to do."

Talek did not stay long, what with early spring planting to do and fences to mend and all the other tasks on a farm after the end of winter.

The days that followed were often lonely, and the sheer joy of being alive no longer carried her along as much as it had immediately after their escape. Yseult explored the area when the weather was dry and sometimes even when it was wet, visiting the dolmen of the ancient ones and repressing the thought of Kustennin as well as she could. She hunted in the nearby woods, wishing she had Bran and Ossar with her, and foraged for wild carrots and onions and other winter-hardy vegetables. Whenever Drystan awoke, she made him a tisane to drink and applied new poultices to his bruises. He was able to stay awake longer every day, but Yseult knew that after the fall he had taken on his escape down the cliff, the best thing for him now was sleep. When he protested that he was tired of lying amid a pile of blankets on the floor of the cave, she pushed him back gently.

"Believe me, my love, I have seen this kind of injury before. You're not ready."

Drystan shook his head, but before he could find the words to go with the gesture, his hand went to his forehead and he took a deep breath. "Oh. I see what you mean."

Yseult smiled. "Dizzy?"

"Very much so."

She gave him a gentle kiss and pushed him back into his bed of blankets. This time he did not protest, but he did give her a lewd grin.

Yseult laughed, her heart a touch lighter again. They both knew how incapable he was of lewd acts in his condition.

The nights were cold, and she gave him what heat she could with her body. She had told Talek he would recover, and she believed it was so, but she well knew that injuries to the head could take an unexpected turn, no matter how well cared for the patient had been. She didn't know what she would do if she lost him now.

Often during her ramblings and the chores necessary to keep them both alive, Yseult felt as if she were not really in this place, this cave so far away from other people. From her son. There was a numbness to her days, as if she had put part of herself in a box and locked it away.