"We will send a messenger of our own to Celliwig," Yseult said to Ruan. "You deserve your rest."
Ruan smiled at her gratefully, his eyes half open, the long ride and the warm mead taking their toll. "Thank you, Lady."
Arthur arrived from Celliwig before the midday meal and immediately summoned Ruan, even before changing out of his traveling clothes. Pacing, he heard the messenger out, shooting questions at him in rapid succession, and then turned to Bedwyr and Cai.
"We must return to Caer Leon and muster our troops as soon as possible."
Cai shot out of his chair. "You cannot think to go to Gaul!"
"Ambrosius left you as his deputy here, Arthur," Bedwyr added. "Think — would he want you to come to his aid?"
There was a stubborn slant to Arthur's mouth, but Drystan could see the war of loyalties in him.
Arthur turned back to Ruan. "How bad were the casualties?"
"The word we had was that it was a rout, General. They were surprised by Euric's forces while waiting for the Roman army to join them."
"But Ambrosius did not fall?"
Ruan shook his head. "He himself sent the messenger to Caer Leon, during their retreat. He still had hopes of meeting up with the Roman forces."
"We should wait for word from Ambrosius," Drystan put in. "If we go to Gaul with the legions you only began to put together last year, Britain is defenseless."
Arthur was silent, still fighting with himself.
"On the other hand, if you take only your mobile units, we regional kings could arrange for our own defense," Marcus suggested.
The Dux Bellorum stared at Marcus, his head cocked to one side, and Drystan barely avoided heaving a sigh of relief. He would not have to speak to his cousin after all; his father's words had made him see reason, made him realize he had to stay. "No, I think your son is right. I spoke in haste, without thinking," Arthur said. "A decision of this magnitude would require a meeting of the council."
Arthur turned to Cai and Bedwyr. "Nonetheless, we should return to Caer Leon. We will need to send out messengers and apprize the other kings of Britain of this development."
Apparently as relieved as Drystan was himself, Arthur's most trusted companions nodded, smiling.
* * * *
Yseult had temporarily fled the busy hall of Dyn Tagell to tend her garden. Preparations were underway for Arthur's return to Caer Leon — and Yseult was anxious for news from Eriu. The weather was extremely fine, warm without being hot, the breeze surprisingly gentle for the coast, and she hummed to herself as she pulled out the dandelions and put them in a basket at her side. Later, she would separate the roots from the leaves and dry them, and from the fresh flowers she would make a tonic. It was good to be digging in the dirt, watching the cowslip and borage and marigold plants she had obtained from Illtud take root and grow, knowing she would be able to do good with them later, ease a soldier's indigestion or reduce the swelling from a bee sting of one of the village children.
She had set up her herb garden on a southern slope of the island near the central well and to the west of the soldiers' lodgings. It was not as protected from the wind here, but the plants got sun nearly all day long, and she didn't have far to go if she needed to fetch water.
Kustennin slept in a basket near the lovage patch, one of the few things which hadn't died during their long absence; it had even begun to sprout again before they returned to Dyn Tagell. By comparison, the annual plants that she had obtained as seedlings from Illtud were still small. She would have to ask someone to look after them while she was away in Eriu visiting her mother. It was strange how she was simultaneously fearful and elated at the thought. Perhaps it was simply because her home seemed so far away now, unimaginably far. Or perhaps she was mixing her feelings for the trip she was planning with her fear for Ambrosius and his forces.
A rout, the messenger Ruan had said. How many of the soldiers who had died were men she had met, talked to, here or in Verulamium? Ambrosius had taken thousands with him. Yseult couldn't get her mind around it. She had grown up with death, but death in terms of ones and twos and dozens, not thousands. A major battle in Eriu might involve hundreds, no more. It was hard for her to conceive of how so many people could die at once — so many she couldn't even imagine all of them together at one time. She remembered the sea of tents at Verulamium and wondered how many of those tents were ever coming home to Britain.
Thousands.
She leaned back on her heels and rotated her neck on her shoulders. The sun was warm on her back, with no walls and no trees to block it. One of the things she liked about Dyn Tagell was how open it was, to the wind, to anyone passing by who cared to see, not blocked in by walls of stone on all sides like Verulamium. Dyn Tagell needed no such defenses: its setting was all the defense it needed.
A bell sounded, and she glanced westward at the wide ocean. A ship had appeared on the horizon, deep-bodied, small, and fast.
Erainn.
Yseult rose, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Perhaps whoever it was carried word from her mother.
She picked up the Kustennin's basket and hurried to the path that led down to the beach, a smile on her lips. As much as she was growing strangely attached to her new home, it would be good to see Eriu again, her mother, Brigid, Crimthann, see her dogs and Dun Ailinne.
By the time she reached the beach, a landing boat was already being lowered from the side of the Erainn ship. Behind her, two British soldiers were making their way down the path she had just taken. She smiled to herself and shaded her eyes to see the landing boat better.
She gave a brief shake of her head; the man at the prow looked like Gamal.
But why should that surprise her? He was a member of the Fianna of the Laigin, after all.
She set Kustennin's basket down on the sand and moved forward to meet her former lover.
"Gamal!" she cried out as he jumped over the side of the boat and sloughed through the shallow waves. "So my mother has already received my message?"
He nodded.
"What news? When will I be able to visit to her?"
"Very soon. I have come to fetch you."
Yseult started. Wouldn't her mother send her word first so she could prepare her journey? Perhaps the queen had fallen ill again and needed her there.
"Is all well at Dun Ailinne?" she asked, probing his mind, only to find a wall.
"It was when I left."
Gamal waded the rest of the way out of the surf, and Yseult took his hands, smiling.
He returned the smile.
And then he shook off her hands, grabbed her around the waist, and flung her over his shoulder.
For several precious seconds, Yseult was so stunned that she didn't react. His gloating burst in upon her mind like a putrid wound. She began to scream and kick and pound his back as he waded back out to the landing boat. At the noise, Kustennin woke up and began to cry.
"Kustennin!"
Gamal dumped her unceremoniously in the boat, and Yseult pulled herself up to see the two soldiers running across the sand while Kustennin wailed. The guards plunged into the surf after them, but the boat was pulling away rapidly with six men at the oars.
"Kustennin!"
The basket on the sand became smaller and smaller, and the wails quieter. One of the two soldiers had dived into the water and began to swim after them, but Gamal took a spear from the bottom of the boat and aimed.
"No!"
Red blood colored the water and was swept away, and Yseult began to sob.
"Kustennin."
Chapter 22
Let the lofty bark be Ireland,
Lofty Ireland, darkly sung,
An incantation of great cunning:
The great cunning of the wives of Bres,
The wives of Bres, of Buaigne;
The great lady, Ireland,
Eremon hath conquered her,
I, Eber, have invoked for her.
I invoke the land of Ireland!
"Aimirgin's Invocation"
Her breasts ached.
Yseult squeezed her left breast again with both hands, and the milk squirted out onto the cloth she had laid across her lap. She couldn't seem to get rid of it at a rate to make up for what her son would normally drink. The searing pain was worse even than what Gamal had done to her; not only was it a constant ache, heavy, tight, it was a constant reminder that she had left her son crying in a basket on the beach.
She wiped the milk off of her nipple, glad that the ship at least had a small enclosed area on deck. There was something about milking herself like a goat or a cow that made her thankful she didn't have to share it with Gamal's crew.
At least she knew Drystan would come after her. Not Marcus, no — he always let others do the fighting for him, and then wondered why his bastard nephew-by-marriage had a reputation as a better warrior than he. But Drystan would follow, she knew that — despite what she had said to him at Dyn Tagell. He was more true to her than she deserved.
But would he be able to catch up with Gamal's ship?
Tonight when she could see the stars, she would use her power of calling. If Drystan could hear her call and follow it, he would find her.
* * * *
The pain told him the way. He saw the stars the way she did, the way she intended him to see them, Leo ahead and a little to the left, Perseus on the horizon to the right. But it was the pain that dragged him forward, that forced him to push his crew harder, to drop the sails and row when the wind was against them. It was no surprise that they were heading north and west; he only hoped her pain or her vision would tell him when to head for land.
Brangwyn joined him at the railing, a whimpering bundle held tight beneath her cloak. "He doesn't much care for goat's milk squeezed out from a cloth."
Drystan clenched the smooth wood in front of him. "Can you blame him?"
It was late, but it seemed no one was asleep yet, and at the sound of their voices, Kurvenal and Cador wandered over.
"We need to catch them, Drys," Cador said, his voice low and intense. "Yseult — your brother — " He shook his head, not completing what he wanted to say, or perhaps not even knowing it.
"Yes," Drystan said, to say something. Ah, the pain. But at least the pain told him she couldn't be too far away.
He closed his eyes for a moment, tried to find his way back to these people who were helping find her. His cousin Cador, such a surprise to him these last few days; barely a man, the hair on his chin only starting to grow, and totally taken with Kustennin. When Brangwyn's arms ached from carrying the hungry babe, trying to quiet him, Cador would take him on his shoulder, a smile on his face even when the little one bawled. Perhaps his fondness for Kustennin was because his own childhood had been cut short by war and his father's death.
They were good people who all loved Yseult in their own way. Drystan grimaced to himself — except perhaps for Kurvenal. But together they would find her. He turned his face back to the stars and allowed her pain to lead him.
At next light, the lookout spotted a ship ahead of them on the horizon. Drystan knew it was the ship in which Yseult was held — the pain was so great now, it could be no other.
He wished he had more men trained for sea battles. He didn't know how experienced the warriors were who had kidnaped Yseult.
But on his ship they had magic.
He found Brangwyn watching over a blessedly sleeping Kustennin in the deck house. She looked up, hope lighting up her eyes.
"The lookout caught a glimpse of a ship ahead of us," Drystan said, closing the door softly behind him. "Is there any way you can help us with your power of changing?"
She gazed at him, her expression steady and serious. "You want me to create an illusion so that they will not know rescue is at hand."
He nodded.
Brangwyn rose, her hands behind her back. "I have never tried to cloak anything so great as this ship, but I know it is possible. My relatives who have retreated to the sidhe use their powers now to hide their dwellings from the Gael."
"Then you will try?"
She graced him with her quiet smile. "Of course. But you must deal with the questions your men may ask."
He returned the smile and echoed her words. "Of course."
When he came out of the deck house, a strange morning mist had already begun to rise from the waters around them.
"Stay on course!" he bellowed at his confused crew. "They were straight ahead of us when the weather began to turn!"
Drystan fired his crew forward, although they were sailing blind. When the mist finally started to burn off, the Erainn ship was no more than a few dozen paces away.
He wished Brangwyn could have held the illusion longer; through strands of what was left of her spell, he could see warriors on the Erainn ship drawing their weapons to prepare for battle. On the other hand, if the mist were still surrounding them, his men would not be able to navigate their ship alongside that of the kidnappers.
"Man the grappling hooks! We'll come up on the windward side and board!"
At least some element of surprise seemed to be theirs —instead of preparing for battle, many of the enemy warriors stood gawking as Drystan's warship emerged next to them from the mists.
"Pull her aside and throw down the gangplanks!"
Drystan and his men swarmed onto the other ship. He had to fight the urge to search for Yseult — he needed all of his concentration for the men who blocked their path. He took out a warrior who had not yet drawn his sword and parried the attack of one who had. Beside him, Cador fought like a demon; strange as it might seem, his young cousin was almost seventeen now, a man blooded and king of Dyn Draithou.
Together, they pushed forward, mad with the battle and a personal hatred. Drystan realized that he wanted these men to suffer, wanted to pay them back for the pain he had been feeling on the voyage, Yseult's pain.
Then on the opposite side of the deck, he recognized Gamal, and the hatred became more personal. So that was why Yseult had been taken — there was nothing political about it at all.
"There, that one — he's the leader!" Drystan yelled to Cador over the ringing steel and the screams of battle. "He's the one we have to take!"
Cador nodded, and they attacked the Erainn warriors between them and Gamal. The wooden deck was slick now with the blood and piss and excrement of the dead, a horrific smell, overpowering the salt scent of the ocean. Drystan parried a blow from the man in front of him as he noticed a short sword aimed for his neck coming from his right side.
With a battle cry worthy of the mightiest warrior, a vision of moonlight and silver hurled herself on the man attacking him, and he crumpled at Drystan's feet, a dagger in his back.
Yseult yanked the dagger out of the dead man's body and pulled his short sword out of his lifeless hands. The skirt of her tunic ripped off to the tops of her thighs, and sword and dagger in either hand, she plunged into the fray, heading for Gamal. Drystan did his best to guard her back, Cador beside him.
Yseult reached her prey, and with another unearthly scream, she gutted him.
As if they had all been put under some kind of spell, the fighting stopped. They turned to watch Gamal fall to his knees in front of the woman he had kidnaped and raped, his hands clutching the dagger in his belly. He stared up at her, looking as if he wanted to say something, and then fell to his face in the mess on the deck.
With their leader dead, the other Erainn warriors threw down their weapons, crying for mercy. Drystan wiped the sweat out of his eyes with his forearm and looked them over: most likely bothach, clients without honor-price, who would take any work offered them.
"Deal with them," he said shortly to Cador and moved forward to lay an arm around Yseult and draw her away, from battle and battle-madness.
"Brangwyn has brought Kustennin," he murmured, his voice as gentle as he could make it after a bloody battle. "They wait, heavily guarded, in the deck house of our ship."
Slowly the
madness began to leave her eyes, and she tried to wipe some of the blood off of her face and arms. She took a deep breath. "He is well?"
Drystan nodded. "But hungry. He refused the wet nurse Marcus found for him, and he does not care for goat's milk."
As they stepped off the gangplank, Brangwyn emerged from the deck house, in her arms Kustennin, crying at the top of his lungs.
Yseult hurried forward and took him from Brangwyn with a sob, opening her tunic and turning his head toward her breast. At first he only cried louder, disturbed perhaps by the strange smell of blood and death. But then the familiar scent of his mother seemed to reach him, and he latched onto the dripping nipple. Yseult let out a shuddering sigh, and she looked at Drystan.
"Take me to my mother. Please."
* * * *
For the rest of that day, Yseult nursed Kustennin nearly twice as often as normal. The pull of his small mouth on her breasts was sharp pain and relief and joy all at once. Luckily, he was hungry and demanding, and by evening the soreness of her breasts finally began to abate.
After the battle, half their company turned back. Kurvenal took command of the Erainn ship and its surviving warriors and returned to Dyn Tagell; the fighters who had been in Gamal's employ had declared their willingness to go into service in Britain, and there would be no ransom to be men without an honor price.
Yseult and Brangwyn continued north with Drystan in Marcus's ship to the port of Inber Da Glas, the closest port to Dun Ailinne.
"Will you remain in Dyn Tagell when you return?" Yseult asked, watching her homeland draw near.
Drystan nodded. "At least until my father sends me elsewhere or Arthur summons me."
"Let us hope Arthur soon hears from Ambrosius," she said.
Cador joined them at the railing. "The Lord willing," he said quietly. Yseult glanced at him sharply. She had not been aware that he was a Christian. But why should she be surprised? Even her husband regarded himself as a Christian, although all he believed in was himself.
Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur Page 34
