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

by Nestvold, Ruth

  "Perhaps more than you think," Myrddin said.

  "And perhaps Madoc is right," Cador added. "Can not a council of kings and a Dux Bellorum accomplish everything a High King could?"

  Several of the other regional kings among them nodded, but staring at the seemingly impenetrable fortress of Din Eidyn, Drystan was inclined to agree with Myrddin. Not having a High King would create a power vacuum that those with more ambition than sense or responsibility would always seek to fill — like Marcus Cunomorus.

  His father.

  "When this is over, I intend to go in search of Ambrosius," Arthur said.

  At that, the rest of them were silent.

  A standard-bearer appeared on the ramparts of the hill-fort above them, followed by another: the hound of Cunomorus and the eagle of Lot. "Now we will see whether they are satisfied that they lured you into their territory, Arthur," Bedwyr said with a grin.

  Arthur wheeled his mare Llamrei around and faced his commanding officers. "Cador, Madoc, you will come with me to negotiate with them. You represent the lines of Constans and Uthyr; they have no one as close to the line of Ambrosius."

  They nodded and rode forward to join Arthur. Just as Drystan was thinking he was glad he would not have to face Marcus, Arthur spoke again. "Gawain, Drystan, I would like you to join us as well."

  Together they watched as the standards made their way down a grassy section between the steep, rocky sides of Din Eidyn. Although it was almost June and the sun was warm on his shoulders, there was still a bite of cold in the air. It had been much warmer when Drystan had last seen Marcus — at his wedding to Yseult of the White Hands, a year ago now.

  "Common enemies make for strange bedfellows," Madoc commented, as their groups drew near each other. Besides Marcus and Lot, Lot's son Agravaine, Cadwallon of Gwynedd, Urien of Gore, Huail son of Caw, and Arthur's former general Cerdic, the traitor who had fought against them last year at Baddon and now self-styled prince of the Isle of Vectis, made up the rest of the "welcoming" party.

  "If any of them ever manages to become High King, Britain will be torn apart," Myrddin said.

  Arthur reined in his mare. "Then we will just have to prevent them, won't we?"

  Lot rode forward. "By what right do you surround my castle with your army?"

  "We had word that a number of kings were meeting here, intending to take over the authority of the council of kings and name a successor for Ambrosius." Arthur looked from one to the other of them. "It appears the word was true."

  "If we want to meet and discuss politics before the council convenes, what harm is there in that?"

  Arthur answered with his own question. "How many troops have you amassed within the walls of your fortress, Lot?"

  The king of Gododdin didn't answer and Arthur turned to Myrddin. "How many?"

  "I estimate over a thousand men, but only half of them horse."

  Lot started forward with his temperamental stallion, but the guards in Arthur's party held him back. "What magic did you use to learn that, old man?"

  Gawain could no longer hold himself back. "What need would you have of so many troops at a peaceful council of kings, Father?"

  The king of Gododdin switched his attention to his son. "Enemies are everywhere."

  Drystan felt Marcus's gaze on him, but he didn't turn to look. He no longer had the need to confront his father as Gawain did. He was well aware that he had done Marcus wrong, but after what had been done to him, he no longer needed justifications or forgiveness — or anything at all from the man who had sired him.

  "If you will give up your weapons and surrender your troops to us, we will withdraw and allow the matter to be discussed at the council in Verulamium," Arthur said now.

  Marcus laughed. "What, when we have more men than you? It is time someone taught you some humility, bastard."

  Arthur didn't respond to the insult, only looking from one to the other. "Then I take it you would rather fight off a siege?"

  "We will not give up," Cerdic said.

  "So be it," Arthur said. "But if you change your minds, my offer still stands." At that, he wheeled his mare around and rode back to his troops, followed by his party. Drystan galloped back with the rest, thinking about what a strange way it was to start a battle.

  * * * *

  Drystan to Yseult, greetings.

  The siege of Din Eidyn is begun, and who knows how long it will last. One circumstance may speed things up — in the first week, after our infantry arrived, a number of Cerdic's troops were caught trying to slip out of the fortress at night.

  Unfortunately, the former Count of the Saxon Shore was not among them. Myrddin thinks the escape may have been cover for Cerdic himself to slip away. We do not know, because the kings still in Din Eidyn would hardly admit that one of their number had betrayed them. I can well believe it — Cerdic is nearly better at betrayal than Marcus. (I saw your husband the first day, but we had nothing to say to each other. What would there be to say?)

  My love, I don't know if I can communicate to you how much joy it gives me to be able to write you without constraints. I know, the circumstances that stand between us are no different than they were before, but knowing you are now willing to overlook that changes everything for me. Perhaps Marcus will not consent to a divorce, perhaps Yseult of Armorica will not consent to an annulment; we will make a life together anyway. With Arthur's protection, Marcus will not be able to take Kustennin away from you.

  Your Drystan

  Yseult to Drystan, greetings,

  I hope you are right about Arthur's ability to protect us; what I fear most now is Marcus's reaction when I ask him for a divorce. He does not like having his possessions wrenched from him.

  But yes, I too feel a strange lightness around my heart that I no longer need conceal my feelings. Even though you are away at war — again — and nothing is certain, my days are more full of joy than they have been since we escaped death at your father's hands. You see, you do not need to communicate anything to me; I feel it myself. Only come home safely to me, my love, to a world in which Marcus Cunomorus no longer plays a role. Kustennin and I will be waiting for you. Somehow, it seems as if anything is possible in a Britain in which Arthur is acknowledged leader of kings, whether he bears the title of High King or not.

  Your Yseult

  Drystan to Yseult, greetings.

  I fear I may not be coming home for a while yet. The siege of Din Eidyn draws out; the rebel kings on their rock are stubborn. I do not know what they can hope for, unless it be promised help from other rebels. June is nearly at an end, and with the number of people within their walls, at some point their stores must surely become depleted. It is the stubbornness of desperation, I think. The kings here realize that now they are found out, there is little left to lose. Cerdic could sneak away because he has become half Saxon, safe on his island with a Saxon king as father-in-law.

  But I wish this would end. We watch the roads and raid the countryside and try regularly to damage the walls with catapults. Unfortunately, the fortress is perched so high up on the rocky hill, our siege machinery has little effect.

  Knowing I will return to you and Kustennin, however, is a great comfort to me. Returning? Coming home to you for the first time.

  Your Drystan

  Yseult to Drystan, greetings.

  As tiring as it may be for you, I am glad of this siege, because it means you are not facing enemy weapons. If the rebel kings finally give up without a fight, I will be even happier.

  Kustennin has begun lessons with Cador's former tutor Antonius, and little Judual has taken to tagging behind and sitting in. The few words he knows he contributes enthusiastically. Things seem strangely normal with the battle so far away, but for so many warriors absent. You need have no worries for us; Dyn Tagell is much like Din Eidyn, nearly impossible to take.

  Summer here is beautiful this year, the breezes mild and the sun hiding less often behind the fog. I look forward to when you can share it wi
th me.

  Your Yseult

  * * * *

  It was summer on the Pictish border as well, and as Drystan rode back to camp with the patrol he had just led along the roads to the south, he thought with longing of the mild breezes of the Dumnonian coast. The linen of his tunic stuck to his back between his shoulder blades, and his hair, growing out after the tangles had been shorn, was plastered to the back of his neck. He would be glad when it was long enough to braid again.

  "Are you well, Drys?" Kurvenal asked at his side, and Drystan repressed a sigh. Ever since he had regained his memory, it seemed Kurvenal treated him more as patient than as friend.

  "Hot is what I am," he said. "I long for a bath and a change of clothes."

  Before they reached the pen for the horses, he saw a large group of men staring at the walls of Din Eidyn. He dismounted and led his mare forward, Kurvenal beside him.

  "What is it?"

  Arthur, his arms crossed in front of his chest, shook his head. "We don't know yet. But there are an unusual number of men on the southern wall."

  "They're planning something," Bedwyr said. "Too much activity."

  Drystan looked at the spot the others indicated. Something was being built up, that was obvious — rather than just glimpses of helmets gleaming in the summer sun, figures were visible from the waist up. But what good would it do the defenders to tower above their own thick walls? It didn't make any sense.

  "We should be attacking them, now," Cai said.

  Arthur shrugged. "Perhaps that is what they want."

  Myrddin nodded. "It could well be a trick."

  Drystan's mare nudged his arm as he watched. Then something that looked like a cart appeared at the top of the wall, men on either side pushing and shoving it into place. It appeared that the besieged wanted to pour something down the sides of the fortress. Which also didn't make any sense, since there was no one to attack below those impregnable walls.

  "By all the gods," Myrddin muttered, turning away.

  It took the rest of them longer to realize what was being dumped from the fortress walls.

  Bodies.

  Drystan gagged and turned away as Myrddin had. His mare nipped at his shoulder, mouthing him affectionately, and he led her away to the pen, his mind numb. Most likely starvation victims, the old, the young, the weak. When he closed his eyes, he could see them, the little ones no bigger then Kustennin, falling among a welter of limbs to crash against the unforgiving rocks on which the fortress stood. His imagination gave him the rest — heads split open like eggs, brains spilling out amidst other pieces of former lives.

  When he returned to Arthur and his companions, the discussion was heated. Kurvenal shot him a look of concern, but luckily he did not act nursemaid this time.

  "We cannot risk it," Bedwyr was saying. "They are not our dead to bury."

  "It's a deliberate provocation," Cai added.

  Cador sat on a stump, his hands dangling between his knees. "They're demonstrating the consequences of our actions," he said, his voice quiet.

  Gawain had been staring at the ground, but at this his head shot up. "Our actions? Can you tell me why so many have starved already, after only a month? Din Eidyn has plenty of storehouses, and my father always keeps them full. There's only one answer — they're feeding the soldiers at the expense of the people."

  Silence met this statement. Arthur looked around from one to the other, his gaze finally resting on his former father-in-law, Ludd Ogryn. "Elmet is not far from the Gododdin kingdom. From what you know of Lot, would it be like him to starve his women and children to save his troops?"

  Ludd Ogryn, a big man with steel-gray hair and a thick beard such as many here in the north wore, shrugged. "He is not well-loved among his people. They say he collects more at harvest than is his due. Is that an answer?"

  Arthur looked from Ludd to Myrddin. "Perhaps."

  Myrddin shook his head. "Arthur, morality may demand it, but you cannot do anything for those people now. The best way to help them is to help the living and put an end to this siege."

  Arthur turned to Gawain. "Do you think your father is expecting us to try to retrieve the bodies for burial?"

  Gawain didn't answer for a moment, obviously collecting himself. "It could be, but he may also just be trying to provoke us into attacking the fortress before we are ready."

  Arthur nodded. "Either way, perhaps we can come up with a plan to use what Lot and Marcus might expect of us to double-cross them."

  Drystan glanced at Myrddin speculatively, remembering how Brangwyn had hidden their ship from Gamal's with the power of illusion. "Would you be able to make it look as if there are more troops in a place then really are?" he asked the wise man.

  Myrddin smiled. "I forgot that you had experience with those with the power of changing. Yes, I think I could do more than make Greek fire."

  * * * *

  They had to wait for the next moonless night to carry out Arthur's plan, and by that time, the bodies had three days to rot on the southern rocks of Din Eidyn. Drystan wished very much that Arthur had not chosen him to lead the party which was to provide the distraction; although a pleasant night breeze from the west helped carry the smell away, it was nonetheless revolting enough to make him want to gag, a smell like a physical pain. He was only glad their plan didn't involve getting any closer to the rocks and the stench.

  "Are you all right, Drys?" Kurvenal whispered beside him.

  "Fine."

  They waited in a stand of trees south of the rock upon which the fortress perched, their mounts hidden in the underbrush behind them. Luckily the night had been dark enough that all had gone according to plan, and the tower they intended to pull towards the wall of the fortress was concealed among the tallest trees.

  The call of an owl came from the east, telling them the other siege engines were in place.

  Drystan turned to Myrddin. "How far can we advance and your spell still work?"

  The wise man was silent for a moment, judging the distance. "I'm not sure, but I think if you take the tower no farther than that clump of bushes halfway to Din Eidyn, I can maintain the illusion until they notice that no one is shooting at them any longer."

  "Good."

  The horses pulling the tower were led out from the shelter of the trees and towards the cliff walls. Before they arrived at the spot Myrddin had indicated, an outlook on the walls spotted them and sounded the alarm. In the gleam of newly-lit torches, they could see warriors rushing to the southern wall.

  "Up, men!" The best archers climbed to the top, while archers on the wooden ramparts of Din Eidyn sent arrows out into the night in an attempt to pick them off. With no moon and the torches illuminating the walls of Din Eidyn, they had an advantage over the defenders, even though they were nearly unprotected. But to the archers above them, they were little more than a kaleidoscope of moving shadows. They might even be able to do some damage before they stole away to join the rest of Arthur's forces at the eastern wall.

  Drystan breathed shallowly, trying not to allow the stench of the rotting bodies to distract him while he watched his men take their positions on the wooden structure above and send arrow after arrow in the direction of the fortress. The screams told him that a number hit their mark.

  "They're going to use fire!" Kurvenal called. Drystan looked to where he indicated. The upper half of a catapult towered above a nearby wall of the fortress, and whatever was in the throwing arm had just been lit on fire.

  "Down, now!" Drystan called up to his archers. Running forward to free the horses from their reins, he caught a whiff of wasting death that made him gag. He stuffed a fist in his mouth and forced the reflex back.

  The fire darted across the night sky and landed in the dry grass between them and their tower. It had missed its mark, but it set the field ablaze, lighting up the night. Was Myrddin's power of changing great enough to cover their retreat to the stand of trees and their hidden mounts?

  He slapped the cart horses
on the rumps. "Ya!" Freed, they fled the fire, and Drystan and his men followed, leaving the tower where it stood.

  As they ran across the field, back to where Myrddin and the horses were concealed, another fiery missile was sent in the direction of their siege engine.

  "Quickly," Myrddin urged. "They still see you there on the tower, but I do not know how long I can maintain the illusion, especially not with a brush fire raging."

  Drystan pulled himself into the saddle of his waiting mare and led his men out of the stand of trees, riding hard for the eastern wall of the fortress.

  By the time they arrived, Arthur's attack was well underway, and the guards on the walls were calling for reinforcements. From what Drystan could see in the torchlight, there was already fighting on the wall; some of their warriors must have been able to scale the sides unnoticed, according to plan.

  Drystan and his men swung around to the main entrance to Din Eidyn. Under the protection of a long, portable roof of boiled leather, about fifty men were applying the battering ram to the thick wooden gates. As they galloped past, dodging arrows, he could hear the crunch and splinter of wood. On the north side of the fortress, ladders were going up and grappling hooks being thrown high to catch in the cracks between the stones. Although no bird yet sung, the night was growing lighter, and the smell of smoke was in the air. Greek fire prepared by Myrddin must have found its mark within Din Eidyn —the sky above the walls was turning orange. Ahead of them, another tower such as the one they had left on the south side of the fortress burned brightly.