“My pretty child, do not fear for me. I go to join all those I have lost: Lancelot, Arthur, Gareth of Orkney, and many others.” He smiled with the right side of his mouth. “Your place is with Tristan now. Stay beside him, whatever comes. Be one with him, in flesh and in spirit, in joy and in sorrow. He will serve Britain, and his sons after him.” His hand touched her brow in blessing. “Go now, and let me have a word with Kaherdyn. Come back for me at dawn.”
In the outer cave it was cold as well as dark. Tristan went to the rusting brazier and felt around in the dark for the flint and tinder he thought he remembered seeing nearby. At length he found them and after a struggle struck a spark into the tinder, which he blew into a flame and set beneath the coals. He tended the nascent fire anxiously, letting it absorb all his attention so that he need not speak to Iseulte. Her presence seemed to surround him like a shadow, insubstantial but menacing nonetheless, and the desire to steadfastly ignore her, like a naughty boy attempting to ward off the punishment he knew was coming, was too strong to deny. But as soon as the coals caught fire and lit the little cave with a dim glow, he grew ashamed of his cowardice and turned to her.
She stood at the cave mouth, looking up at the wheeling stars, her back to him. His childish subterfuge had been unnecessary, had gone unnoticed.
“Elen.” His voice sounded strange, even to him. “Come sit by the fire.”
When she turned around the firelight lit her solemn face, ethereal in its grief. He saw her suddenly as a stranger might, a breathtakingly beautiful woman with an otherworldly air of innocence and wisdom. He realized, as her shadowed eyes met his, that she was a mystery to him. He did not know her at all.
“The stars are out. The king star is still there, in the north. I thought—I thought it fell in a hail of light whenever—whenever a great king dies.”
He walked to her side, and as he approached she drew her cloak more tightly about her body. It was a small movement, a gesture only, but it spoke worlds. He let his hands fall to his sides. “You’ve heard too many bards’ tales.”
She nodded, avoiding him adroitly as she moved toward the fire. She spread out her hands above the flames, those beautiful, long-fingered hands that had earned her the name she was known by, and shivered. An ache struck Tristan’s chest. He wanted desperately to please her, but he knew the choice before him.
“He is dying.” She said it flatly.
“Yes. He has been dying since before he came home.”
Another shudder. “I know.” She settled herself before the fire and kept her eyes on the flames. “I know why he came here. But why did you?”
“To be with—” he stopped. He had said it so often to himself he almost believed it. But after that interlude in the cave, the time for pretending was past.
“No,” she said quietly, “not to be with me. To be in Britain. Ever since we landed you have been on fire to leave Maridunum. All I ask is that you allow me to go with you.”
“How can you know?” he breathed. “Am I made of glass?”
She shook her head sadly and spoke to the fire. “I look at you with eyes of love, Tristan. I know your heart. Ever since she returned your ring you have wanted to come back and settle things between you. I know you will go down into Cornwall. I will not try to stop you. But I want to go with you.”
Tristan moved awkwardly toward her. His heart pounded and his breath stuck in his throat. “Markion is going to kill my sons!” At last she looked up and met his eyes. He steadied. “They told me in the tavern—they heard it from a soldier at Caerleon. I don’t know how old the news is; it could be months. It might already be too late. He has tried twice before and she’s kept him off, but this time he’s coming himself. I must rescue them if they still live. You see that, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she said calmly, “But you will need an army the size of Markion’s. We don’t have enough men in all of Lanascol.”
“I have no time to raise an army. I will go myself.”
She did not reply. They stared at one another in silence. At length she turned and looked down at the fire. The wavering light lit tear tracks on her cheeks. “I see. And where will you take them, to be safe?”
Tristan shut his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Into the forest, perhaps. To Less Britain. Anywhere he can’t find them.”
She stifled a gasp. “You would take Queen Essylte to Lanascol? To my home?”
“I’m not talking about the Queen—”
“Of course you are.”
She said it calmly, and all his protestations died on his lips. He stood silently over her while Iseulte wiped the tears from her cheeks and stared into the fire. “If you take them to Less Britain, you will start a war. They are Markion’s declared heirs, after all. And I’m not sure—I’m not sure Kaherdyn will give her sanctuary.”
Tristan fell on his knees at her side. “Then I will do something else. I don’t know what. I will think of it when I get there. But I must go.” He raised his hands in supplication. “Please, Elen. Let me go.”
She went very still and avoided his eyes. “Why is it,” she whispered, “that everyone, everyone else calls me Iseulte and you do not?”
“I—I—I prefer Elen,” Tristan said, floundering.
She shrugged. “Never mind. I know the answer. You simply cannot bring yourself to call me by her name.”
“Iseulte!” He grabbed her hands and held them hard against his breast. “Forgive me for it. Don’t let it matter. Don’t destroy what is between us. Go home with Kaherdyn and your mother—”
“What is between us, Tristan? Look into your heart and ask yourself.”
“I already have,” he whispered.
“Is it worth preserving?”
“Yes.”
He felt her soften. She drew a trembling breath but no longer tried to pull her hands away.
“Then let me come with you. You need me for camouflage. No one knows me here. I can protect you, at least as far as Tintagel.”
“It’s too dangerous. You will be safer with Kaherdyn.”
“But I choose the danger. Don’t protect me against my will. I would rather be with you than anywhere, and I will not leave if you are not with me.”
Tristan pressed his lips into her hand. “I do not deserve you.”
“And I did not deserve Ryol,” she answered softly. “Deserts don’t matter in the least. Remember my father’s admonition to me: I will stay beside you, whatever happens.”
“And remember his other admonition,” said a voice from the back of the cave. “Be one with him in flesh as well as spirit.” Kaherdyn strode angrily out of the shadows and frowned down upon them both. “Where are you going, Tristan, that you want to leave my sister behind?”
“Hush, Kaherdyn!” Iseulte spoke sharply. “This does not concern you.”
“But it does. Father has just now bound me with an oath to look after you. It’s an oath he ought to have made Tristan swear, and I wondered why he didn’t. Now perhaps I will find out.” He turned to Tristan, who rose and faced him. “Where are you going?”
“Into Cornwall.”
“Cornwall! Whatever for?”
“To save my sons from the High King’s wrath.”
“Sons!” Kaherdyn stared at them both. “What sons? Whose?”
Iseulte rose and took his arm. “Listen, Kaherdyn, oath or not, this is none of your concern. When the time comes to leave, you will take Mother home. I will go into Cornwall with Tristan and we will take ship from there.”
“I forbid it!” Kaherdyn cried.
“Prince Kaherdyn.” Tristan bowed gravely. “I owe you an explanation, both as your sister’s husband and as your ally. I pray you will hear me out.”
“That’s better,” Kaherdyn grumbled, calming. “I will hear you, Tristan. Let us go outside.”
“Kaherdyn!” Iseulte glared at her brother. “Try to remember you are not yet king. This man is my husband. He saved me from a fate you yourself could not have borne.
Whatever he tells you, remember this: He has already earned our mercy.”
Outside on the cold hill the two men sat wrapped in cloaks under the dimming stars. Tristan told Kaherdyn about his long love for Essylte of Gwynedd. He spared the boy nothing; he admitted his wrongdoing at every turn. When he had finished, Kaherdyn sat silent a long while.
“You only left her to save her life.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you marry my sister?”
“Because I intended to spend my life in Lanascol, and as your father pointed out, I could not live in such close proximity to her without taking her to wife unless I wished to make her the butt of gossip. And also because she wanted the match and I had no right to deny her.”
“But you did not desire her?”
“On the contrary,” Tristan said softly, “I desired her to the point of anguish.”
“Then why have you not lain with her? Do not deny it—my father saw it straightaway.”
“No, I don’t deny it. But it is not from lack of desire either on her part or on mine. Kaherdyn, try to understand the fear a woman feels when she has been used the way Ryol used her.”
“I don’t want to talk about that!” Kaherdyn said sharply. “I am talking about you.”
“But you must talk about it if you are to understand. To be so helpless against one’s fate! Many women suffer from ill use and degradation at men’s hands and are powerless to prevent it. They have no champions to fight for them against their husbands or their kings. Have you never imagined what it must be like? We who wield swords and can ride anywhere we wish unquestioned, we would stifle in an hour if we lived the lives they live. We can fight openly against our enemies. They cannot. We can seek our own vengeance. They cannot. We can control the ebb and flow of events. They cannot, unless they can manipulate a powerful man. Your sister has suffered because she is a woman, and so has Esmerée, and Branwen, and even Essylte the Queen. That’s why your father spoke to her about fear. It is her fear, which she cannot help, which keeps me from her bed.”
“In truth?” Kaherdyn said unhappily.
“Ask her yourself.”
“She’ll snap my head off,” he said ruefully. “I dare not.”
Overhead a falling star tore across the lightening heavens from horizon to horizon. Tristan crossed himself sadly and Kaherdyn shot him a curious look. In the east the first hint of gold struck the distant hills. Kaherdyn rose. Below them they heard women’s voices in the cave.
“Well, Tristan, you are honor bound to go to Cornwall, and Iseulte is honor bound to follow. I have sworn to protect her, so it looks like Mother will be going home alone.”
“You are wise beyond your years, Kaherdyn. Such understanding surprises me. But then, you are the son of the Grail Prince, may he rest in peace.”
Kaherdyn frowned. “It’s dawn. We should go back and get him.”
“Too late.”
As Tristan spoke, the ground beneath them shuddered and moved. Tristan grabbed Kaherdyn and pulled him to the earth. Together they rolled down the shifting sides of the hill, while earth and sky roared around them. They landed in a ditch filled with nettles. Boulders crashed through the underbrush, missing them by inches, and rocks and pebbles showered down upon them. At last, when the earth was still, Tristan struggled to his feet, bleeding from nettle scratches and bruised from the battering landslide. He coughed as a huge cloud of dust settled over the quiet countryside.
“The hill is gone! Iseulte! Iseulte! Dandrane!”
“Mother!” Kaherdyn cried, clutching his shoulder as he scrambled up. “Tristan, they were in the cave!”
Together they fought their way up and over the debris, climbing to the place where the cave had been. The grassy apron before the cave mouth was still there, just recognizable beneath piles of dirt and stone, but the hill itself had slid into a low mound. The cave was gone, and all that had been inside it.
“Elen!” Tristan wailed.
An answering cry came from below them. They scrambled down the sheep track and found Iseulte and Dandrane crouched low in the natural stable under the trees.
“Thank God!” Tristan took Iseulte and enfolded her within his arms.
Kaherdyn ran to his mother. “He is gone,” she wept, stroking her son’s hair. “He is gone forever. He died in my arms, and God Himself has buried him in the hill.”
“Well.” Rufus stood in the tavern doorway and scratched idly. “I wonder who those people really were. Stuff and nonsense, that tale about Breton princes. Witches and magicians is closer to the truth.”
Behind him the villagers nodded in sage agreement.
“No strange doings up yonder on Caer Myrddin until they came.”
“First a light all night, and then the magic storm. Struck Caer Myrddin and nowhere else. Witches for certain.”
“No prince would send his mother home alone. On a ship. Across the sea. No prince worthy of the name.”
“They bought Rhydderch’s best horses. That Marcus knows his horseflesh.”
“His name’s not Marcus. I heard that young beauty call him Drustan. Or Tristan. A man with a false name can’t be trusted.”
“Tristan!” Rufus breathed, watching the fading dust cloud on the Caerleon road. “I wonder. . . . Wouldn’t that be a tale to tell my children! Do you suppose it could have been? . . .” He scratched again and yawned, feeling in his pouch for the heavy coin purse. “Well, God bless them all, I say, whoever they were. They paid well.”
35 THE NIGHT WIND
Dinadan and Guvranyl sat alone at the long table throwing dice. Behind them unshuttered windows gazed out on a tranquil sea, and the evening breeze, warm and laden with all the scents of spring, poured softly in around them. Dinadan rose abruptly.
“Go on!” he scoffed. “No one throws dragon’s eyes thrice in a row. You’ve weighted them, Guv. This time you have.”
Guvranyl belched. “I’ve killed men for lesser insults.”
Dinadan shrugged. “Kill me, then, and avenge your honor. I’d give anything to wield my sword with a purpose once again. Another year of this forced inaction and I’ll throw myself into the sea.”
Guvranyl rose. “As punishments go, it could have been much worse, and you know it well. Thank God your father spoke up on our behalf, or we’d be pushing up daisies like Regis, Dynas, and Filas.” He shook his head sadly. “We bet wrong on that roll of the dice, lad. We must take what comes. Be thankful it’s only guard duty at Tintagel and not labor in the quarries. I’m too old for that.” He walked stiffly to the hearth and lifted the wineskin from its stand above a low flame.
Dinadan watched him, scowling. “You drink too much, Guv. Don’t try to tell me you don’t hate this imprisonment as much as I do.”
Guvranyl drained the wineskin and stared at Dinadan with rheumy eyes. “I won’t deny I’d rather be home in Dumnonia. As you’d rather be with your young wife in Dorria. But—”
“And my daughter of eighteen months, whom I’ve never seen!”
“Aye, that’s cruel of Mark. But if I can’t be home, I’d rather be here than serving in his army.”
“Seriously, you old soldier? Why?”
“Because he’s not a leader of men and he’s no tactician. Every time he took us into battle I’d be thinking how very much better Tristan would have done it.”
“Damn you, old man! You swore me an oath you wouldn’t speak his name.”
Guvranyl grinned unevenly. “I was drunk when I swore that. So were you.”
“Yes. Well, I drink too much, too. Any news from the scouts?”
“Not yet.”
“I suppose the old goat really means to come himself?”
“Oh, yes. Last time she nearly had his eye out. I thought perhaps he’d leave well enough alone after that, but his message was clear enough. He’s coming himself.”
“To take the boys.” Dinadan’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “It will be the end of me when he finds them gone. But he made me Queen’s Protector, a
nd thus I am bound to serve the Queen.”
“Where are they going this time?”
“I don’t know. I’m not hiding them myself. I’ve sent for Pernam at the Queen’s request. He’s the only one we can think of who has both the courage and the power to deny Markion. He should be here any day now. I just pray he gets here, and gets away, before the King arrives. After that”—he grimaced and reached for the wineskin—“they can fight it out between themselves.” He squeezed the last drop of wine into his mouth, then dropped heavily into the King’s carved chair.
“Five to one she sends him packing,” Guvranyl offered.
Dinadan raised an eyebrow. “You know, I might take that bet this time. She’s not well.”
“No? Looked fine at breakfast. But still nursing her winter cough.”
“It’s more than that. It’s a weariness of spirit. Since the turn of the year, she’s just given up.”
“She’s young still. Plenty of life left. Mark my words, she’ll kill Markion before she’ll let him take her sons away.”
“Yes,” Dinadan said absently, staring into the distance. “She might.”
A tap came at the door and the captain of the house guard entered and saluted.
“Oh, good,” Dinadan breathed. “Pernam at last!”
The guard bowed to the space between them. “Travelers upon the road, my lords, seeking shelter for the night. A Prince Kaherdyn from Less Britain and his sister, Lady Elen, and Sir Marcus Cunomorus, who travels with them.”
“Shelter?” Dinadan wondered aloud. “Shelter from what? It’s a mild night in May.”
“I’ve not heard those names before, Morven,” Guvranyl replied. “Does the knight wear a badge?”
“A hawk, my lord.”
“Brittany’s badge is a silver boar.”
“His is a small subkingdom, my lord. He says you’ll not have heard of it.”
“Are there only three of them? Harmless enough, I wager. Eh, Dinadan?”
Dinadan shrugged. “Where can they be going on the shore road, I wonder? Well, do as you like, Guv. You’re master of Tintagel.”
Guvranyl returned to the guard. “What are they like?”
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