Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur

by Nestvold, Ruth

  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.

  A week after the visit from Talek, she allowed Drystan to get up and walked with him to the clearing, a tight hold on his elbow in case he became dizzy again and lost his balance.

  The rain had let up, and there was a new warmth and freshness to the air, a hint of what spring would bring.

  "Idyllic," Drystan said, looking at the clearing, the small pool, the boulders, and the pine trees above them.

  "But not very comfortable," Yseult added.

  Drystan grinned. The purple rings under his eyes were beginning to fade to a sickly grayish-yellow, but Yseult still found his grin charming.

  "No. But it doesn't matter much to me. I don't notice the discomfort in my sleep." He shifted his weight a little and put his arm around her waist. "We're alive, Yseult."

  "Yes."

  "There's more gray than blue in the sky, and other than the pines, the trees are still bare. We're living in a cold, dark cave, we still are not out of danger, and I could cry for joy."

  Yseult swallowed and blinked away tears. Her throat was closing up. "I felt that too."

  Drystan turned, his movements slow and deliberate, and took her in his arms. He planted a gentle kiss on her lips. "Don't you think we should celebrate it?" he whispered against her mouth.

  "But what of your dizziness?"

  He nuzzled her cheek, and she could feel him smile against her skin. "If I faint, you'll know why."

  * * * *

  The next day, Yseult was fetching water from their pool when she felt a presence approaching. She hurried back into the cave, glancing around the clearing to make sure there was no visible sign of their occupation. Drystan was still sleeping peacefully, so she sat near the mouth of the cave, trying to determine the quality of the mind nearby.

  When she did, her heart nearly broke with joy. It was Brangwyn, and she was bringing her son.

  Yseult rushed out into the clearing. "Kustennin!"

  Brangwyn emerged from the trees on Talek's old plough horse, Kustennin propped in front of her. "Mama!"

  Yseult hurried forward, lifting him off the horse and whirling him in a circle. His high, infectious laughter filled the air, and Yseult thought she had never been so happy in her life. She hugged her boy to her, and he threw his arms around her neck, still laughing.

  She turned to Brangwyn, tears starting in her eyes. "Thank you so much."

  Brangwyn smiled. "Marcus is spending the day in Voliba, arranging transportation to Isca. It was an opportunity I couldn't pass up."

  Kustennin began to squirm in her arms, and Yseult set him down. Drystan stood in the mouth of the cave, smiling. Kustennin bolted across the clearing to him. "Drystan!"

  Yseult watched as Drystan lifted him up and propped him on his hip, running one hand through his curly blond hair. "Hello, young man."

  "Why are you and my mother out here in the woods?"

  Drystan put one finger to his lips. "Shhh, it's a secret, like a game. We're hiding. You can't tell anyone you saw us. Can you remember that?"

  Kustennin nodded earnestly, and Yseult's heart turned over in her chest.

  Here were the two people she loved most in the world, the only ones who could make her happy. Why couldn't she make a life with them, with these two, her lover and her son?

  But then, why was she so convinced she couldn't?

  She'd lost nearly everything; there was little left to lose now. Perhaps she could make a life with both Drystan and Kustennin. Even if she had to run away to Eriu, had to take Kustennin's heritage away from him. Perhaps he would forgive her someday.

  But if she didn't, she would never forgive herself.

  "Finally," she heard Brangwyn murmur beside her.

  Yseult turned to her cousin, suddenly urgent. "But how are we to manage it? Does Marcus intend to take Kustennin to Isca with him?"

  Brangwyn shook her head. "Whenever he thinks about returning to Isca, part of his anticipation is in leaving the noisy little brats behind. Besides, he is already packing his own belongings, and he hasn't ordered Kustennin's or Judual's things packed."

  Yseult heaved a sigh of relief. "Then we have some time to arrange our escape."<
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  "You really will do it?"

  She gazed at her lover and her child. Kustennin was tracing the discolored rings under his father's eyes, and Drystan was explaining about falling and getting a dizzy head.

  She smiled, feeling strangely free. "Oh yes."

  Brangwyn gave a short nod. "It will be best if we wait until after Marcus leaves. If Kustennin were to disappear, he would suspect something."

  She couldn't reply for a moment — the thought of sending Kustennin back to Lansyen, now that he was with her again, went against every instinct. But if Marcus no longer believed them dead and came searching for them, they had no means of escape. "I would rather keep him here, but I know you're right. We have no mounts, and even if we did, Drystan is not yet strong enough for a long journey."

  "But he is improving rapidly."

  Yseult grinned. "Yes, he is."

  Catching the thoughts that went with the words, Brangwyn blushed and choked back a laugh.

  * * * *

  During the days that followed, Yseult was so happy and carefree, she couldn't believe that she had not taken this step sooner. Now, in this place of power, next to these stones put up by the old ones, it seemed so logical, but before, it had felt as if the world were forcing her to remain in a life she loathed, as if she had no choice.

  She had been thinking like a Briton and a Christian and she was neither.

  She leaned back on one of the upright stones supporting the huge top slab. The sun was struggling with the clouds and losing, and the stone was cold against her shoulder through the woolen cape she wore. She gazed out across the hedges and moors. There was still the worry that she was stealing Kustennin's heritage from him, but she hoped that if she were happier, she could be a better mother to him. And she knew that Drystan could be a better father than Marcus.

  At the thought of what she was denying her son, an uneasiness began to nag the edges of her mind. She repressed it as well as she could and pushed away from the dolmen to take the path back to the cave.

  But the uneasiness wouldn't go away; instead, it grew with each step she took. She found herself running, crashing through the underbrush, branches tearing at her cape and her skin and her hair.

  Brangwyn was coming.

  They reached the clearing at the same time, and her cousin's expression told her everything she had been trying to deny.

  Yseult sobbed. "No, tell me it isn't so."

  Brangwyn wiped away a tear. "I'm so sorry, Yseult. Marcus left for Isca this morning, and he took Kustennin with him."

  Ah, she was dead all over again. She fell to her knees, dropping her head in her hands. How could she have allowed herself to hope? The pain was so much worse now than it had been before.

  Through the haze in her head, she heard Drystan come out of the cave, heard the two of them whispering. He knelt next to her, enveloping her in a warm embrace. "Shhh, Yseult. Shhh."

  At least he didn't try to tell her it would all be right.

  * * * *

  Before the spring began in earnest, Arthur arrived in the clearing in front of their cave with a small troop led by Kurvenal. By this time, Drystan had taken over the role of caretaker, with the assistance of Brangwyn, while Yseult had become listless and melancholy. Drystan tried to convince her that she might yet get Kustennin back, something that would not have been an option if she had been burned at the stake, but all he got from her was a weak imitation of a smile.

  He felt guilty at his own joy that he could hold her every night in his arms without fear.

  Arthur dismounted and tethered his mare Llamrei to a tree, while Cai, Bedwyr, and Drem followed suit. His expression was grim, but he took Drystan in a hard embrace and held him longer than he was used to from his business-like cousin.

  When Arthur pushed him away and took him by the shoulders, Drystan thought he even detected a glimmer of tears in his eyes. "You fool, Drystan. Can't you keep your cock in your breeches?"

  Drystan looked around hurriedly, hoping Yseult still had not emerged from the cave.

  Arthur turned away from him, his hands behind his back. "She can hear it too — the two of you were fools, and you're lucky you're alive."

  The rough, strangely melodious voice with its Erainn accent came from the mouth of the cave. "I know."

  Yseult moved forward into the clearing, a ghost of her normal self. Her coloring was unnaturally pale to begin with, but now instead of looking bright like the moon, she seemed sick and colorless. "Marcus has taken my son."

  "His son," Arthur corrected harshly.

  Yseult bowed her head.

  Arthur began to pace the perimeters of the clearing. Above their heads, the buds were finally beginning to appear on the trees. "I am afraid of how Cunomorus will react when he discovers that you are both still alive. You must be somewhere safe, somewhere that will give the lie to Marcus's accusations. You, Yseult, will come with me to Celliwig. My wife stayed with you during the recent Saxon campaigns, and it would be logical for you to look to her for help. Also, Modrun is there. The two of you have much in common and have gotten along well since you met. They are both women you might be expected to turn to in times of trouble."

  Yseult nodded. "True."

  Arthur stopped in front of her. "Yes, and truth is the best basis for a lie." He turned to Drystan. "You will go with Kurvenal and seek out our cousin Cador in Dyn Draithou. He knows nothing of what has happened, although by this time he has surely heard of your adultery and death. But since he has not been near Voliba or Celliwig since my wedding, he will be a perfect witness, if such is needed. You still look ill enough, and you must tell the tale that Kurvenal cared for you in the woods until you could travel again, when you decided to seek sanctuary with him."

  Drystan drew a deep breath. After the weeks with Yseult, weeks without sneaking and hiding, weeks of holding her in his arms every night, he was to be parted from her, again. He didn't know how would be able to stand it.

  He gazed over at Yseult, standing listless before Arthur, a moon covered in clouds. She was miserable without Kustennin. The way Drystan knew his father, he would only consider speaking with her again at all if there were some way for him to save face. Arthur's plan offered a way.

  Yseult lifted her head, and their eyes met. Those red-rimmed eyes, pale rather than incandescent now, pleaded with him.

  A wrenching sigh escaped him, as if his soul were being dragged out of his throat. He turned to Arthur. "Kurvenal and I will leave for Dyn Draithou today."

  Chapter 30

  All round the forest sweeps off, black in shade,

  But it is moonlight in the open glade;

  And in the bottom of the glade shine clear

  The forest-chapel and the fountain near.

  —I think, I have a fever in my blood;

  Come, let me leave the shadow of this wood,

  Ride down, and bathe my hot brow in the flood.

  Matthew Arnold, "Tristam and Iseult"

  Yseult could hardly bear to watch Modrun's youngest son Aurelius play in front of the wooden hall of Celliwig. He was over a year and a half older than Kustennin, and he had almost entirely lost the roly-poly look of early childhood, but the curiosity and blond hair and determination were the same.

  Brangwyn was more of a mother than she now; while Marcus had taken Kustennin with him, he had left his bastard behind, and of Judual had come with them to Celliwig.

  Yseult felt Modrun's presence before the other woman spoke. "Kustennin will be returned to you, Yseult. I have seen it. But the price may be too high."

  Yseult drew in a deep breath. "What price could be too high?"

  Modrun shook her head. "I have not seen that far, only that to be with your son again you will suffer great pain."

  "I suffer great pain now."

  The older woman linked her arm through Yseult's. "Yes, I understand." She pulled Yseult away from the sight of Aurelius and the other youngsters. "Come, Arthur would like to speak with you."

  A
rthur was outside the ramparts of the hill-fort, watching the older boys and young men at sword practice, among them Modrun's foster son Gareth and Arthur's nephew Medraut. Ostensibly, they had peace now, but Arthur was a warrior, and he did not trust peace; men under his command would be prepared for attack at any time. Beside him, his father-in-law Gwythyr and advisor Mryddin looked on approvingly.

  When Arthur saw them approaching, he spoke a few brief words to Gwythyr and turned to meet them. The wind here on the plateau above the valley of the Cammlann whipped her hair around, and Yseult caught her tresses in one hand, holding them back.

  "Good day, Yseult. Shall we walk?"

  Yseult nodded, not trusting this courtly manner from the Dux Bellorum. Modrun gave Yseult's free hand a reassuring squeeze.

  "You sent for me," Yseult said as they fell into step next to each other, away from the practice grounds and down the side of the hill towards the river Cammlann.

  "Yes. I wanted to warn you. I've had news that Marcus has left Isca. He heard that you are still alive and escaped here to Celliwig."

  "Already." To her shame, Yseult realized she was afraid. She had to speak with the man she had married, had to get Kustennin back somehow, but Marcus had been willing to see her burn at the stake. If he had wanted to kill her then, why wouldn't he kill her now?

  "I thought you wanted to be reunited with your son?" Arthur asked.

  "Yes."

  Down here, below the summit of the hill, the wind was not as strong, and Yseult released her hair again.

  "He will not just give him to you, you know," Arthur said. "You will have to return to your marriage — assuming Marcus can even be persuaded to take you back."

  Yseult drew in a deep breath, gazing down at the river. "I know. And he could very well kill me as soon as he has me again."

  Arthur shook his head. "He endangered peace with Eriu by threatening your life, and I will not allow it. I hope to make that clear to him. Seats he held for the defense of Britain are already forfeit."

  Yseult shot him a sharp look. "And that is to sway him in my favor?"