"That is to make it clear to him that he does not rule alone here in Dumnonia, and certainly not by right of birth."
Yseult locked her hands behind her back, matching her pace to his. "Yes, I see now."
"You are a clever woman, Yseult. We have means of persuading your husband. If we are successful, and he allows you to return to him, I have a favor to ask."
"Gladly." She had been planning to make a life far away from Marcus, but now she would to anything to return to him; he had her son.
Arthur stopped, facing her. "I will arrange to send messengers to you regularly, and I want you to inform them of Marcus's activities."
Yseult shook her head, repressing an inappropriate desire to laugh. "Why should you trust me? I'm not even British."
Arthur graced her with one of his rare smiles. "Myrddin trusts you, and I trust Myrddin."
* * * *
Before Marcus arrived, there came a visitor no one had reckoned with.
The unexpected presence came to Yseult one afternoon when the sky was heavy with the clouds and fog that often seemed to cling to these valleys, even in late spring. In order to combat the idleness of her position as guest here at Celliwig, Yseult had taken to visiting the priest Ocrin, helping prepare medicines and heal the sick who sought him out. She had just spotted the holy man in the distance, when she felt a presence coming from the west, someone she hardly dared expect.
Her mother.
The holy man had not yet seen her, and she turned on her heel and hurried back to Gwythyr's hill-fort.
She found Brangwyn in the children's quarters, feeding Judual gruel and laughing at the mess he was making.
"Brangwyn, I think my mother is on her way here."
Brangwyn looked up, an expression of pleased surprise on her face. Yseult felt her cousin open her mind, but Brangwyn soon shook her head. "I don't sense her yet. Your power of knowing is knowing is greater than mine, though."
Brangwyn wiped Judual's face and took him up, and together they sought out Modrun and Ginevra with the news. Before the Erainn party was sighted to the west, chambers had been made ready, and the women of Celliwig were waiting outside the ramparts.
Yseult was so glad to see her mother; while she could not go home, a piece of home was coming to her.
"You called me," her mother said after they had embraced, queen to queen.
Yseult shook her head. "Not intentionally."
Her mother gave a slight smile. "Not intentionally, across an ocean. Quite a feat." The smile disappeared. "Since I landed in Dumnonia, I have heard the story. I understand now."
Arm in arm, they entered the hill-fort of Celliwig, Ginevra leading the way as hostess and the Erainn retinue following behind.
It was some time before they had a chance to be alone; the rituals of hospitality had to be completed, introductions made and wine served and bread broken before they could retire to the room Yseult shared with Brangwyn.
"What are you going to do?" her mother asked.
"Marcus is on his way here even now," Yseult said, staring at the hands clenched in her lap. She looked up. "I will go with him if he'll have me back. He has Kustennin."
Her mother didn't answer for a long time as she gazed intently at her face. "You could return with me to Eriu, you know."
Yseult shook her head. "Not without my son."
The Queen of the Tuatha Dé gave a short nod. "Then I will accompany you."
A huge surge of hope filled her heart, hope that her husband might not yet kill her before she had a chance to see Kustennin again. "What if he will not allow it?"
Her mother gave her a slight smile, tipped to one side. "He will not have a choice. Apparently he needs a lesson in what is at stake here, about alliances and balances of power. And I have a right to see my grandson."
Yseult threw her arms around her mother and hugged her as she hadn't since — no, for as long as she could remember, she had not embraced her mother this way, nor been embraced back so tightly.
* * * *
The two Yseults, Brangwyn, Modrun and Ginevra watched the progress of Marcus's forces up the Cammlann Valley from a protected spot on the ramparts of Celliwig. Beneath the blue and gold banner of the snarling warhound that fluttered and flapped in the stiff spring wind, Marcus had assembled a warband over a hundred strong.
He called a halt out of the range of the archers, and a small group of riders was sent forward up the hill to within shouting distance of the walls. Yseult recognized Andred among them and felt a twist of nausea.
"Marcus Cunomorus demands the return of his wife!" Andred called out. Despite the distance, his voice carried easily, the only competition the chattering of a few spring birds and the jingling of distance harnesses.
"I cannot return a woman to the hands of one who means her harm!" Arthur called back, his voice carrying equally well.
"You have no right to keep her!"
Yseult balled her hands into fists; Andred spoke as if he was claiming her for his own. Brangwyn took her elbow and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"She has sought sanctuary here. We will not return her without a guarantee of safety."
Andred turned his mount and conferred with the two men who had accompanied him. Yseult thought she recognized Guron, the priest from Voliba who had sentenced her to death.
Andred whirled his horse around again to face the ramparts. "What guarantee do you demand?"
"Marcus Cunomorus is to enter Celliwig alone, and we will discuss the terms!"
Andred's derisive laughter echoed in the valley. "And what of the king's own safety?"
"A hostage."
"We must consult with the king!" The three riders pulled their mounts around and galloped back to where Marcus waited a safe distance down the hill. Yseult could see her husband shake his head when first told of Arthur's demands, but then finally he too rode forward with Andred and Guron and a third man she didn't know.
Marcus halted at the front of his small escort. "Send us Yseult's cousin, Brangwyn!"
Yseult clutched Brangwyn's arm. "You don't have to go."
Brangwyn shook her head. "They will do nothing to me if Marcus is in Arthur's power."
She pulled away and moved forward, giving Arthur a nod.
"It will be done!" Arthur shouted down.
A mount was fetched for Brangwyn and several soldiers came forward to protect her during the exchange. The gate opened and the two small parties approached each other, the guards on both sides with their hands demonstratively on the hilts of their swords. Yseult watched with a pang as her cousin was traded for the man she had been forced to marry, so many years ago.
"Come, Yseult," Arthur said, taking her elbow. Her mother, Modrun, and Ginevra followed.
Marcus was waiting in the great hall with his former ally Gwythyr and Arthur's most trusted friends and advisers, Bedwyr, Cai, and Myrddin. The Christian wise man Ocrin was present as well. Marcus stared at her as she approached, his expression impassive, but she felt the wall of hatred in his mind.
For this meeting, she would keep her mind open to him, as painful as it was.
Gwythyr indicated that they were all to take seats at a long council table at the far side of the room.
"What are your terms for the return of my wife?" Marcus demanded when they were seated, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
"What would keep you from murdering her in her sleep?" Arthur shot back. "What were you thinking, Cunomorus? She is Erainn royalty. If you had succeeding in killing her, we would have all the kingdoms of the Laigin harrying our coasts again, and your precious Isca would burn."
"I am the guarantee of that," Yseult the Wise said calmly, and Marcus seemed to notice her for the first time. He stared at the woman who looked so much like her daughter, and Yseult could see as realization dawned in his eyes.
"Yes, Cunomorus," her mother continued. "I am here to ensure the safety of Yseult of Eriu. The Laigin are not to be disregarded, even if they do not hold the seat
of the Ard Ri."
Arthur leaned back in the seat of honor Gwythyr had awarded him, despite the fact that his father-in-law was master of Celliwig. "You contracted a marriage you claimed was in the interest of Britain, but when your jealousy got the better of you, the interest of Britain was far from your mind." One side of the Dux Bellorum's mouth quirked so very slightly, anyone who did not know him — or did not have the power of knowing —would have missed it.
"But she is a traitor!"
"Tried by what court?" Myrddin asked.
"Tried by Christian men," Marcus spat out. "Not the likes of you."
Gwythyr's priest Ocrin turned to her, his eyes kind. "Is this true, Lady?"
Yseult wished she did not have to be reminded of the events of those days, but her future with her son was at stake. "It is true that a Christian holy man spoke the sentence. But there was no trial."
"She was caught fornicating with my son," Marcus spat out.
"What treason is there in that?" Bedwyr asked with the hint of a leer in his smile. "Your line has not been betrayed."
Arthur gave his friend a stern look, and Yseult had an inappropriate desire to laugh.
"It is still adultery," Marcus said.
"Pericope de adultera," Ocrin muttered, half to himself. "Christian teachings do not demand the death of the adulterers."
Marcus slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. "According to my priests, the holy book calls for stoning."
"But Christ does not," Ocrin insisted.
Myrddin moved around the table to stand between Marcus and Ocrin. "We will achieve nothing with a discussion of religion." He faced her husband. "Even among the Christian wise men who favor death for the crime of adultery, the act must be made public. Were your wife and her lover tied and witnesses called?"
"No." Marcus turned to Arthur, studiously ignoring the Queen of the Laigin. "This whole discussion is a farce. What authority do you have to make judgment on my doings within my kingdom?"
Yseult could hardly see Arthur's anger in his gestures, but she could feel it in his mind. "I am Ambrosius's deputy and responsible for the defense of Britain, which you would have endangered if your execution of your wife had been carried out."
Marcus shook his head, an empty smile curling up his lips. "You cannot be Ambrosius's deputy because Ambrosius is dead."
For a moment, no one in the hall said a word. Many would have agreed with Marcus, but all knew how little Arthur cared to hear the words spoken.
It was her mother who finally broke the silence. "I can assure you that King Crimthann of the Laigin at least is alive and well. I daresay he would be more than inclined to lay waste to the coast of Dumnonia if my daughter were executed."
Yseult could feel how much Marcus wished to ignore her mother, but at the same time, he was calculating costs in lives and hostages and properties.
"If it is true that Ambrosius is dead, then I could well claim title of regent in the name of my sons," Modrun said with a smile. "You would have to listen to me."
Marcus rose and whirled on her. "If it is true, a council would have to be called and a new high king chosen."
Modrun too rose to face him, leaning her hands on the table. "But you must admit, Protector of Dumnonia, of those in this room, Arthur and I are much closer to the throne than you. Cousin once removed of Ambrosius, son-in-law of Erbin, you rule your Dumnonian territories through your marriage to Argante and only your Armorican territories through blood. Any blood claim you had on Dumnonia, you murdered."
Yseult could feel Marcus's resistance evaporate at the implicit threat to his power base. He grew just perceptibly paler in the light of the central fire. It was good thing that the news of Drystan's survival had not yet reached him.
Modrun cocked her head to one side as if she were considering something. "If an election for high king is held, the regional kings of Dumnonia can just as well chose a new protector. There are a number of likely candidates in the kinship group of Erbin, I believe."
Arthur nodded. "Such as my nephew Medraut. Or myself."
Yseult could hear Marcus screaming bastard in his mind as loudly as if he had spoken the word.
"The rest of Dumnonia besides Dortrig could be put under the rule of Cador," Myrddin suggested thoughtfully. "He is Erbin's grandson."
"What is it you wish me to do?" Marcus got out.
Arthur rose and faced him. "For the sake of the peace of Britain, I want you to swear no harm will come to Yseult. I will send a messenger regularly to Isca to make certain of her well-being."
"And I would like to accompany my daughter to Isca," her mother added. "I have never seen my grandson."
Arthur gave a slight smile, nodding. It was clear to everyone that it wasn't a request.
Marcus recognized Arthur's ruse, Yseult saw that; he suspected that the messenger would also be a spy, and that she was to be his contact. When she returned with him to Isca, she would have to use her power of knowing to get behind his true dealings and provide Arthur with the information he desired. Already, her husband was devising ways of keeping her from seeing anything he didn't want her to see, inventing scenes to stage for her benefit.
Her eyes met Modrun's, and she knew the other woman was also aware of Marcus's plans. A feeling of resigned humor reached her, and Yseult smiled.
Then she caught her husband's thought that at least he would have a use for her after all, Erainn slut. She could no longer smile.
Arthur was not yet done with the measures he had devised to curb Marcus Cunomorus. "I will also personally take over the defense of Dyn Tagell, since you no longer have any adult male relatives to assist you."
The violence Marcus now wished upon Arthur grew too much for Yseult, and she closed off her mind.
Marcus nodded a curt assent. "When may I return with my wife to Isca?"
"The lady Yseult will be returned to you after I have taken control of the fortress of Dyn Tagell," Arthur announced.
Yseult couldn't repress the whimper of despair that rose up in her throat at the delay in seeing Kustennin again, and Marcus glanced at her sharply.
"May I at least speak with my lady wife in private?" Marcus asked.
"Certainly."
Yseult rose and led the way to her chamber, Marcus following.
"How is Kustennin?" she asked, closing the door behind them.
"Well. He is quite fond of Newlyna."
It took Yseult a few seconds to remember the name; he was speaking of the mistress who had succeeded Trephina. She didn't understand why he would think the mention of his mistress would pain her, but he did.
She looked away. "I would have gone with you now," she said, trying to sound repentant. "I did not know that Arthur intended to use me to take Dyn Tagell from you."
"It doesn't much matter what you intended," Marcus said, his hands clenched behind his back. She needed none of her powers to know that he was restraining himself from hurting her only with the greatest effort. "The result is the same, and you will pay for it."
He was gloating at the realization that Kustennin was something he could threaten her with, that he had power over her through her son. While it was true, perhaps there was some way she could turn it to her own advantage. At least if he thought she was no longer a threat, he would allow her to return to Kustennin — and perhaps allow her to live. Yes, Arthur had threatened him with loss of power if anything were to happen to her, but how far did that really go with Marcus? She didn't know.
She bowed her head. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry is not enough. You have made an absolute fool of me. I want you to suffer as I have suffered."
Yseult watched him pace, not answering. What kind of an answer could there be to a statement like that?
"From now on, you are to obey me in everything. If you do not become an obedient wife, I will see to it that you are separated from our son permanently."
"I understand."
He stopped in front of her, taking her shoulders in a painful
grip. "Good. You are mine now, to do with as I please."
Yseult kept her eyes downcast as his hands tightened on her shoulders. "But you will need to be discreet as long as my mother is with us," she reminded him.
"For your sake and hers, you will make sure she does not stay with us long."
Yseult nodded. Marcus was becoming unpredictable, and she didn't want him venting his rage on her mother.
From beneath her eyelashes, she could see him smile, but she didn't allow herself to react. If this was what she had to do to keep herself alive and with Kustennin, she would do it. At least it made her valuable to Marcus again.
* * * *
Drystan felt his stomach clench tight when he saw the hill-fort of Celliwig come into view. Hopefully she had not left yet.
The last time he had been here was for Arthur's Christmas wedding, a lifetime ago — or if not a lifetime, a life. A life lost and won again. He could hardly believe it had been only a few months. Then it had almost been Kustennin's birthday, now it was almost his own.
The smell of flowers in the air vied with the smell of new grass mixed with late spring heat as he and Kurvenal followed the road up from the Camel River to its tributary the Cammlann. It had been easy enough to find an excuse to leave Cador and Dyn Draithou; even before the news had arrived that Yseult would soon return to Marcus, the tidings arrived from Armorica that their uncle Riwallon's health was failing.
While Cador barely knew Riwallon, for Drystan, he was foster father, closer to him in spirit than the man who had sired him. But Marcus too was a foster father — Cador's. At times, Drystan had the feeling that Cador had a harder time believing what Marcus Cunomorus was capable of than Drystan himself. His father and his cousin were not close as Drystan and Riwallon were, but during Cador's fosterage, it was Marcus Cunomorus who had provided the figure of authority for Cador to look up to.
Sometimes Drystan wondered how his cousin had become so honest and honorable.
The news of Riwallon's illness was a convenient excuse to take his leave of Cador and Dyn Draithou. He thanked his cousin for taking him in when his own father sought to take his life, telling him he wanted to go to Leonis to see foster father again in case his illness was serious.
Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur Page 47
