Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles)

by Ruth Nestvold

  Gildas's fists were tightly clenched on his thighs, while Kustennin gaped, blinking.

  "Well?" Cador asked. "What would you do? Wouldn't you want to slug me, hard?"

  Gildas took a deep breath but didn't answer.

  Cador reached out a hand and pulled the boy up from the bench. "The next time you want to insult Kustennin's mother, remember how the idea makes you feel. Go now and clean the dirt off your tunic. The Lioness of Dumnonia could arrive at any moment, and whatever you or the priests might think of her, I'm sure you do not want to look like some servant boy when she gets here."

  As Gildas ran off, Kustennin made as if to rise too, but Cador pushed him back on the bench and sat down beside him.

  "Thank you," Kustennin said.

  Cador laced his hands behind his head and grimaced. "I probably should not have taken your side, but at least you seem to know you should not be fighting with a mere boy."

  Kustennin hung his head. "I do know. But Gildas —"

  "Yes, yes, he should curb his tongue. That does not change the fact that you are bigger and older and should know better. There are worse things than being the son of a lioness, don't you think?"

  "I never thought of it that way," Kustennin said, giving him a startled look.

  "Then perhaps you should. It might also help if you spent more time at weapons practice than allowing your cousin to taunt you."

  Kustennin jumped up. "You're right — now that the weather is better, I should be out there with them every day."

  "You have other duties, but yes, that is one of the more important ones as a young king. I believe Sinnoch is still working on riding hurdles in the western practice field. Take one of the horses that is in need of exercise. We have at least another hour before supper."

  Cador watched Kustennin run off in the direction of the stables, hoping that would keep his wards out of each other's hair for a while. After the youth was out of sight, he leaned his head back to enjoy the warm afternoon sun on his cheeks for a while. There were worse things in life than being a farmer king — such as being a warrior king. But as a farmer king he had duties regarding land and livestock. Reluctantly, he rose from the bench. In the villa courtyard, the rose bushes were beginning to develop their first buds. Cador's second wife had been an avid gardener and roses her passion; it was good that the roses were still here to remind him of her.

  He turned away from the contemplation of loss contained in rose bushes and resumed his search for Alun.

  Shortly after he returned to the busy yard, he saw his steward coming in the gate from the south, laughing with one of his overseers. Alun had been with him going on fifteen years now, had fought beside him in the wars against the Saxons both as man-at-arms and lieutenant. Since Cador had moved his seat from Dyn Draithou back to Lindinis, Alun had become his steward and head overseer. Villa life obviously suited him — to the tune of about two stone, most of it distributed around his midsection.

  "Alun!" Cador called out, raising his arm and waving to call attention to himself over all the people coming in from a day in the fields. "Alun!"

  The steward looked up and spotted him. After shaking hands with the overseer, he turned and headed in Cador's direction.

  But today was not to be a day for consulting on how the spring planting progressed. Before Cador and his steward were within speaking distance, Kustennin came galloping through the northern gate, riding faster than he should, scattering people before him and sending chickens squawking to all sides.

  Kustennin pulled up in the middle of the yard, spattering a puddle of rainwater on Cador's breeches. "Sinnoch sent me to tell you — a party of warriors riding hard from the north on the Aquae Sulis road!"

  Cador stared up at his foster son, trying to comprehend the unexpected news. "Not your mother, then?"

  Kustennin shook his head. "No. She would be coming from the west."

  "And she would not be riding hard," Cador added. By this time, most of the people in the yard had gathered around them. "Did Sinnoch say anything about their device or their colors?"

  "They carry the Pendragon banner, and another he didn't recognize."

  "Did he describe it?"

  "Crimson, with a symbol in white like a star or a triangle."

  Gawain. Bearing a message from Arthur.

  Cador's heart sank, even though he regarded Gawain as a friend. If one of Arthur's nephews was leading this party, the threat was serious.

  He turned to Alun. "Has there been word from Dyn Draithou of a signal fire?"

  Alun shook his head. "No news. And the skies are clear and visibility excellent."

  Cador sighed. "Then perhaps it is nothing," he murmured to himself, not really believing it. What if one of the beacons in Britain's system of signal fires had been taken out? What could be important enough for Gawain to bring the news, riding hard at that?

  "What does it mean?" Kustennin asked. "A raid nearby?" He still had not dismounted, obviously forgetting such an unimportant detail in the excitement.

  "It could be."

  "But you don't think so," Alun said.

  "No, I don't."

  "What then?" Kustennin asked.

  Cador drew a deep breath. "I fear that after over a decade of peace, war may have returned to Britain."

  He caught sight of Enid a few paces away. "Mother, I think it's time to slaughter those chickens."

  Chapter 2

  Many a noble maid, so blew about

  The word, had caught the young knight's fancy, caught,

  But failed to hold, save for a week or month,

  And he had gone his way and left the maid

  To grieve, and all men call'd him "light of love,"

  "False Gawain," too, but naught did Gawain care.

  Oscar Fay Adams, "Gawain and Marjorie"

  As Cador and his riders neared the approaching party on the road to Aquae Sulis, he saw that he had been right: Gawain led the small warband, the crimson banner with a white pentangle whipping in the wind above his head.

  Cador hailed his former fighting companion. "Gawain! Welcome to Lindinis."

  The two parties halted and Gawain and Cador clasped hands. "Well met, Cador!"

  "Is it?"

  Gawain grimaced. "The news is not good, no. But I am glad to see you have put off your blacks."

  Cador shrugged and turned his mare back in the direction from which they had come. "I still mourn Terrwyn, but wearing dark colors does not help matters." He gestured towards the Pendragon banner. "What news is so important that Arthur sends you to us personally?"

  "The northern coast of Dumnonia is under attack. The Mount of Frogs has fallen."

  The Mount of Frogs — it was as Cador had suspected, the system of beacons was interrupted. "And who is behind the attacks?"

  "The sons of Caw. They have forged an alliance with the Pictish tribes and now claim the area as their patrimony."

  Cador shook his head. It was quite a distance to claim territory, all the way from the old Roman wall. The slender claims to patrimony of Caw's sons could only be an excuse. The true reason surely lay in the recent harsh winters, more devastating the farther north one traveled. In the past months, tales of widespread starvation in the far reaches of the north had traveled south to Dumnonia.

  And now that spring had finally arrived and the seas were safe to navigate again, it was safe enough to make war.

  Kustennin drew up next to them, and Cador could feel his excitement. War, adventure, something boys and young men dreamed of, just as Cador once had. Now all he could think of was trampled fields full of the dead and dying.

  "The sons of Caw?" Kustennin repeated. "Gildas's brothers?"

  "Half brothers," Gawain said. "But yes, the same."

  "Poor Gildas," Kustennin murmured.

  Poor Gildas indeed. Cador hardly knew how he was to tell his ward that his kin had begun a war against Britain. And Cwylli — how would she take the news? She was in Caer Leon with her husband Medraut, and probabl
y saw Arthur daily. He repressed the urge to ask Gawain how she was doing; as far as he knew, no one had yet suspected them of anything more than friendship, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  Kustennin gave a puzzled shake of his head. "How could the sons of Caw lay claim to northern Dumnonia? Are they not based in Ystrad Clud?"

  Cador nodded. "They are. But Caw held Caer Custoeint for Ambrosius for years."

  "And Caer Custoeint is the first site they took," Gawain said.

  Cador saw a look of concern look pass over Kustennin's face; once war endangered those you loved, it lost some of its attraction.

  "What of Brangwyn?" Kustennin asked. "Did she and her family escape?"

  "Safe," Gawain said. "Your mother's cousin and her family were in Caer Leon for the Easter festivities."

  At least that. It was already enough bad news for one day.

  * * * *

  As they rode into the stable yard, they were surrounded by more servants than necessary to take their mounts. Word had spread.

  "I hope you and your men will spend the night?" Cador asked as they dismounted. "We could discuss in detail what Arthur needs. Besides, there will not be much daylight left after you have eaten."

  Gawain pulled off his riding gloves, grimacing. "I don't know. Arthur needs reinforcements as quickly a possible. The standing army in Caer Leon isn't large enough to deal with such a serious attack. This is more than a border dispute or a kidnapping."

  Enid touched Cador's elbow. "Gawain's men must be tired and thirsty. Perhaps you can continue this conversation in the atrium."

  "Of course." Cador gestured for Gawain and his men to follow his mother into the villa.

  "Where will you go next?" Cador asked as they walked through the gardens.

  "To Natanleod in Calleva."

  "But that's more than a day's ride away. You and your men might as well spend the night and get a fresh start in the morning."

  They entered the reception area, where slaves and servants were already scrambling to fetch wine and ale. "Your arguments are good," Gawain said, clapping him on the back. "We will consider it."

  They settled into chairs and couches while more servants brought bread and cheese. With a smile, Cador noticed that Kustennin took a seat near Gawain, Arthur's most famous nephew, and he remembered how he had felt about Arthur at the same age.

  Gawain filled them in on what they knew of the attacks. They appeared to have been well-planned and executed: not only were Brangwyn and Kurvenal absent from Caer Custoeint when the northern warriors landed, their ships had stayed far enough out to sea that no lookouts spotted them.

  "Yes, very well planned," Cador said thoughtfully.

  Gawain leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "We fear that the sons of Caw must have allies here in Dumnonia — the Mount of Frogs is in the middle of a swamp and could hardly be taken without inside knowledge."

  Cador cut himself a thick slice of cheese from the plate near his elbow. "I assume Arthur will be needing horses?"

  Gawain nodded. "If we can mount even half our forces, we will have a huge advantage over invaders from the north arriving by boat. How many horses can you contribute?"

  "I will have to consult with Alun, but I believe we have nearly two hundred in the stables here in Lindinis. The mares that have just given birth will, of course, be needed for their foals. There are about the same number in the stables in Durnovaria, but I don't know how many can be spared — or how many would be suitable as war horses. It's usually Cai's job to choose mounts when he visits our stables after Whitsun."

  As Arthur's Master of Horse, Cai was probably the best judge of horseflesh in all of Britain. When Cador had begun to expand his stables, Cai had been a regular visitor, advising him on everything from bloodlines, breeds to import, and feed in winter. By the end of the year, Cai had married Cador's sister.

  But peace seemed to take more women than men. Cador's sister had died in childbed two years ago, only a few months before Terrwyn had suffered the same fate.

  "Cai is needed in Caer Leon to train the cavalry," Gawain said.

  "Then Alun and I will have to do our best."

  Suddenly Kustennin jumped up and strode toward the entrance of the atrium. "Mother!"

  Not for the first time, Cador was struck by how his foster son had noticed a new arrival before anyone else — perhaps an indication that Kustennin had inherited some of his mother's power of knowing.

  As the Queen Regent of Dumnonia entered the atrium, Cador rose, along with the rest of the men who had just been so intent on talk of war. Yseult smiled a greeting and brushed the embroidered linen shawl back from her hair, a gift from Cador the last Christmas that Terrwyn was still alive. Yseult was no longer young, but she still had a reputation as one of the great beauties of Britain, and given the way the men around him stared, it appeared well-deserved. Even Gawain — the warrior among Arthur's companions with the most dangerous reputation with women — drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the tall, silver-blond queen.

  She strode forward with decisive, decidedly unfeminine steps, looking just as stunning as usual, despite having crossed the Erainn Sea and half the length of Dumnonia in the last few weeks. Kustennin led her forward, murmuring earnestly in her ear, and her expression clouded. As she approached, her gaze lit on Gawain. To Cador's surprise, she too drew in a sharp breath.

  He glanced from one to the other. What was going on here?

  Yseult stepped forward to embrace Cador, and he gave her a brotherly hug before exchanging a more formal kiss of peace. "We are glad you arrived safely, Yseult. I assume Kustennin told you the news?"

  She nodded, her expression solemn. "I know it will sound selfish, but right now I am just glad that Brangwyn and Kurvenal were not in Caer Custoeint when the attack occurred."

  Before he could respond, Enid entered the atrium with a servant to announce that dinner was served. His mother had mastered the challenge of so many unexpected guests brilliantly, serving the hare stuffed with sage and dried apples and the salmon in a sauce of clams as the first two courses, followed by a new main course of the spontaneously slaughtered chickens in a rich wine sauce with mushrooms and onions.

  During the meal, Cador found himself glancing between Yseult and Gawain, interpreting relationships of all kinds into gazes caught and avoided. He hoped he was successfully maintaining the shield in his mind as Yseult had taught him so many years ago. There was no telling, Yseult had said then, who might possess blood of the Old Race and the ability to delve into others' thoughts. And now here he was, using that training against Yseult herself.

  If only he also had her magic and could know for certain what the interaction between the two of them meant.

  Servants were bringing out plates of sweet nut tarts and wine cakes when Cador noticed Gawain glance out the window at the gathering dusk. "Perhaps you were right, Cador. Sunlight will soon be gone, and while we could ride in the dark, we'd have to set up camp and would not be as rested in the morning. I think we'll take you up on your offer to stay the night. If we rise before dawn, we can make up the time."

  "Certainly," Cador said, gesturing for a servant. "You are always welcome here."

  While he asked the servant to inform Enid of the change in plans, he saw Gawain catch Yseult's attention, saw their gazes meet and lock, saw the light in Gawain's eyes. Yseult glanced away, but Cador had not imagined the look of intimacy that passed between them.

  He felt the muscles of his stomach cramp, and all appetite for his favorite dessert vanished. Cador might not have the powers of the Old Race, but he didn't need them to interpret something so obvious — Yseult and Gawain were lovers. When had it happened? How had he missed it? Obviously they were trying to keep their relationship secret, but still, he had considered himself one of Yseult's closest friends, aside from her cousin Brangwyn.

  He drew a deep breath and took a sip of wine. And what if they were lovers? What was it to him? Neither had any other commitments, an
d he was well aware that Yseult had long ago sworn never to marry again after the disaster of her marriage to Marcus Cunomorus. From her point of view, a discreet relationship would be ideal.

  Then why did Cador suddenly feel sick at the smell of sweet wine cakes?

  * * * *

  Yseult followed the talk of war, trying to keep the worry out of her expression. Fulfilling her role as regent had become second nature, but it had been a long time since there had been anything more than minor border skirmishes in the southern kingdoms of Britain.

  This was different; with Caer Custoeint taken, Brangwyn no longer had a home. And this time, her son would be going to war with Arthur's troops. Kustennin was not yet seventeen, the age of adulthood for young men according to British custom, but Gawain had relayed Arthur's request that Kustennin become one of his standard bearers. Her son was discussing the upcoming trip to Caer Leon with his neighbor, his expression alight with excitement, unaware of his mother's worries. Yseult would have to try and keep it that way.

  She had been anticipating a restful visit in Lindinis, perhaps some hunting with Kustennin, a trip to Durnovaria to visit the horse fairs with Cador — now they would all be on the road as soon as Cador could get the men and horses together that Arthur needed. Yseult could have found an excuse to go to Caer Leon — to reassure herself that her cousin Brangwyn was well, for example — but with northern pirates attacking the coast of Dumnonia, she needed to ensure that the defense of Dyn Tagell would be sufficient to withstand attack. The situation in Voliba and Isca was not as urgent, since they were on the southern coast; nonetheless, it might make sense to hire reinforcements for those cities as well. In either case, she needed to speak with the captains of the guard about their preparations.

  Gawain tried to catch her eye and she looked away, helping herself to a piece of wine cake. Why oh why was he here? To bring the news of the attacks, of course — and as a reminder that the peaceful life she had made for herself was over, in more ways than one. Gawain, one of the most handsome men among Arthur's companions, even at close to forty years. Gawain, the image of a perfect warrior, tall and blond, but with an odd dent in his nose where it had once been broken, an imperfection that only made his face more interesting. Gawain, who could send her pulse beating with a broad smile or an intense gaze or simply by entering a room. Even now he made her so nervous, she was afraid she would give herself away.