"Gildas!" She pushed him back at arm's length, laughing. "How glad I am that you are safe."
"It is good to see you, Cwylli. The birth went well?"
She shrugged. "It was long. But your nephew is healthy." She pushed the blankets back from the baby's face and extended him for Gildas's inspection. He presumed he was now supposed to admire, and he did his best to make the right noises.
"Isn't he beautiful?" his sister gushed.
Gildas agreed. "How did you find me?" he asked. "Does Arthur know?"
She shook her head. "Cador told me where you had 'run away,' and I had a messenger sent to the monasteries nearby where you might have found refuge."
Cador again — it appeared Gildas had even more reason to be grateful to him. Unfortunately.
They sat down on a hard wooden pew, Cwylli's guards not far away. With a friendly wave, Brother Dafydd left them alone.
"But if you can discover where I am —" Gildas began.
Cwylli shook her head. "Cador told no one but me that you 'might' have sought refuge. And it has not been easy discovering your whereabouts. Besides, Arthur is busy elsewhere."
"Fighting our brothers."
Cwylli shrugged. "They are no brothers to me. They must have known their raids would put us at risk."
Gildas pursed his lips: he refused to see it that way. Arthur was the one who had threatened him, not his brothers in the north.
She laughed and hugged him close. "It matters not. I am just glad you are safe."
"Have you come to take me away from here?"
The expression of joy left her face again. "I am afraid I cannot. It is not yet safe for you."
"Is it safe for you?" Gildas asked, suddenly realizing how thoughtless he'd been. She was a daughter of Caw, after all.
"I am treated well enough. Medraut is fighting for his uncle Arthur."
There was more than she was telling him, he knew it. Gildas clenched his hands in his lap. He should be defending his sister; instead, he was stuck here in hiding, feeding the pigs.
"I will come and get you as soon as it is safe," she promised, misinterpreting his expression.
Cwylli stayed the rest of the day, and the monks freed Gildas from his duties, an unprecedented luxury. But all too soon the sun began to incline towards the horizon, and she had to return to the inn where she'd booked rooms for herself and her men. Gildas accompanied them to the yard, wishing they could take him along — and knowing it would be impossible for him to go to Caer Leon just yet.
"Take heart, Gildas," Cwylli said as one of the soldiers helped her mount her mare. "As soon as the fighting is over, I'll be back."
He watched his sister and her men canter down the lane leading away from the monastery until they were out of sight, fighting back the hope that threatened to overcome him. He knew from experience that promises were no more than words, easily spoken and just as easily forgotten. It would do no good to expect things to change. He would be much less miserable if he reconciled himself to the fact that he would be feeding slops to the pigs for some time to come. In the last few years, disappointment had become a habit, so it was easy enough to damper the initial rush of optimism.
By the time his head hit the hard pallet of the monastery bed that night, his normal expectation of wretchedness had returned, making him feel much more comfortable.
* * * *
Cador did not have much time to enjoy the fact that he was now betrothed to the woman he'd loved for half his life. The day after they announced their plans to marry, Arthur gave orders to ride north and rejoin the army besieging the Mount of Frogs.
There would be no harvest for him this year.
At least Arthur granted him leave to see Yseult home. He accompanied her and her men to Dyn Tagell, where he gave her into Brangwyn's astonished care (and he thought he even recognized a hint of quiet joy). But after inspecting the progress of the repairs — and accepting the congratulations of all — he was riding northeast, away from his betrothed and towards the enemy Picts.
* * * *
Cador to Yseult, greetings.
I fear I do not have much progress to report in the siege of the Mount of Frogs. Access to the beacon site is difficult, only on little-known paths through a treacherous, marshy area. We have guides who could show us the way, but snaking slowly along single file, our men would be excellent targets for archers on the walls.
Thus we bide our time and kick our heels and keep the paths closed, trying to starve the invaders out. I do not know why Arthur was so eager to gather us all here — a much smaller force would do the trick just as well. I could have spent the time much better at Lindinis for the harvest, or with you, planning our wedding next summer. Arthur has suggested a date around the Pentecost festivities, as it is a traditional time for the kings of Britain to meet. What say you? What location would you suggest?
Kustennin is well. I know he is not a great correspondent, despite his many years in fosterage with me, but he sends his greetings.
I hope this letter finds you in good health and that repairs in Dyn Tagell proceed apace.
Your Cador
Yseult to Cador, greetings.
I am sorry to hear that Arthur sees no way of taking back the Mount of Frogs quickly. Starving out a hill-fort is a long process, and I do not want to imagine you still in a military camp when the first snows come. On the other hand, I have been to the Mount of Frogs a handful of times myself and remember the difficult approach well. As little as I wish you and Kustennin still besieging it into the winter, even less do I want to imagine you storming the ramparts through the sucking mud, without siege engines — for I am quite sure they would be impossible to drag or push through the swamp.
But I will rely on Arthur's excellent military assessment of the situation. I am sure he will decide what is best.
Progress on the rebuilding in Dyn Tagell is steady. The outer walls of the mainland fort are almost complete. Although the weather here is already becoming uncomfortable, I may remain in Dyn Tagell through the winter. Not only is there still much to do, I have not spent so much time with my cousin Brangwyn for years, and I find her company a joy, despite her acerbic tongue.
I am very grateful you write. Give my love to Kustennin. Hopefully it will not be too much longer before we will have the opportunity to work out the details of our wedding. What do you think of Isca?
Your Yseult
* * * *
Cador lowered the thin sheets of wood containing Yseult's words and smiled, despite the dismal weather beyond the flap of his tent. She was thinking about preparations for their wedding. Of course, it was logical enough, but part of him still expected her to back out. Wanting to fix on a location was a good thing.
He rose and went to the tent door. Rain had been constant the last few days, making the marsh even more impassable. And their goal — the hill there, jutting above the plain — was so close. Depending on what kind of stores the enemy had, it might well be Christmas before this was over.
It was exceedingly difficult to hold a siege in a swamp.
Cador took up his hooded cape, pulled it over his shoulders, and headed in the direction of the awning in front of Arthur's tent. The same old discussion of what they could do to break the siege was still going on when he joined Arthur's companions.
"Your mother sends her love," Cador said as slipped in next to Kustennin.
"Thank you."
Gazing across the marshes to the Mount of Frogs, Cador listened with half an ear to the rehashed plans for how to get close enough to do any damage. They had already tried building siege engines with a long enough reach (unsuccessful — the missiles all plopped somewhere at the foot of the hill); constructing a road across the swamp (they couldn't get close enough to complete it before Pictish archers started picking off their workers); and sneaking through the marsh by night (not even the guides could find the way in the dark.)
He turned away from the depressing sight of the Mount and sat down on a stum
p serving as a chair.
"When we have sent the sons of Caw back to their cold wastelands —" Anir was saying.
"When?" Bedwyr interrupted. "It might be better to ask 'if.' It would be good to remember that a little over a generation ago, Erainn invaders took a number of seats in Demetia and were never driven out again."
"Now they are more British than many who have been here longer," Cador said, nodding towards Aircol.
"That may be true," Aircol said. "But I hope no one is suggesting we allow these Pict raiders to remain?"
"No, of course not," Kustennin threw in. "But we haven't made much progress retaking the Mount of Frogs. Simply assuming we'll drive them out doesn't get us any farther."
"What do you suggest?" Arthur asked.
All eyes turned to Kustennin, and Cador felt for his foster son, hoping he could come up with an answer that would not lower him in Arthur's esteem.
Kustennin's eyes met his, and he nodded shortly, as if they had agreed on something. Cador felt confused.
"What if we were to drain the marshes?" Kustennin suggested.
The tent went silent. Obviously, no one knew how to respond to such a strange proposition.
Kustennin turned back to Cador. "In the years I was in fosterage with you, I have often seen the drainage system you used when one of your fields was flooded. What if we were to employ that here?"
Cador blinked. "Tile drainage is the system I use. It's an old Roman method I learned from my father's overseer. But it's for flooded fields, not swamps."
"Do you not think it could work on marshes like this?"
"Perhaps, for a time. But that is a long-term undertaking. And it has no chance of success while it continues raining."
"The rain will eventually stop," Arthur said.
"That doesn't matter. For tile drainage we would have to install a system below the swamp." Cador thought quickly. "In flooded areas, open ditches can also be used to drain a field. But I have no idea if we would have any chance of success in these marshes."
Bedwyr crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Anything is better than sitting in our tents and twiddling our thumbs."
Around him, the men were nodding and murmuring agreement. And suddenly Cador found his experience as farmer king of primary importance in the army of Britain.
* * * *
Cador to Yseult, greetings.
Thank you for your last missive. Isca meets with my approval for our wedding. It is larger than Durnovaria, and thus better able to accommodate guests.
Forgive me for not writing sooner, but I have been given a new position in Arthur's army, Master of Ditches. Your son made an unusual suggestion at a recent meeting — that we attempt to drain the swamps around the Mount of Frogs in order to be able to move our army forward within striking distance. Having the most experience with the draining of fields, I have been assigned to attempt this unlikely feat. In the last week, I've been planning where trenches may best help drain the swamp, but only yesterday did I first send men out with shovels to start digging — I refused to begin any such action until we had at least two days without rain. Strangely enough, as little as I think it likely to succeed, the attempt itself makes me more hopeful. At least we are doing something again.
From the Mount of Frogs, it must look as if we are creating moats around the hill-fort so far away they cannot do anyone any good. That too raises my hopes, as it does many of those digging in the mud at my command. (That is a definite advantage of being Master of Ditches — I am not expected to wade in the muck myself, I must only oversee other men doing so.)
Pray to whichever gods might listen to you that the weather remains dry for the next few weeks — preferably months. Even if our drainage operation works, I suspect it will take us at least until your Samhain to see any progress.
Please go ahead and make whatever arrangements for our marriage you deem appropriate. I am sure I will be happy with whatever you decide.
I hope this letter finds you well.
Your Cador
Yseult to Cador, greetings.
Draining the swamps around the Mount of Frogs — I do not envy you. It sounds nearly impossible to manage. Are you having any success? Will you not starve the Picts out before the land is drained?
I wrote Illtud to ask him if he would consider performing the marriage ceremony, and he has agreed. That is a great relief to me, given my difficulties with many Christian priests.
For the sake of your project and quick success in driving the enemy out of the Mount of Frogs, I hope the recent dry weather continues. If there is anything I can send to you and Kustennin for your comfort, let me know.
Your Yseult
Cador to Yseult, greetings.
With so many men who can be put to work, we are making much more rapid progress on the drainage system than I would have expected. We have completed a large ditch almost as deep as a man on two sides of the mount and begun a series of smaller ditches sloping down to the deeper one. Already our "moat" is beginning to fill. Arthur's hope is that we can drain land close enough to the hill-fort to be able to move within range of the siege engines. An attack with catapults could greatly increase our chances of ending this siege.
I am glad to hear that Illtud has agreed to perform the ceremony. But if for any reason you have second thoughts about this marriage, please let me know. It is not too late to call it off.
I hope all is well in Dyn Tagell and you are enjoying these sunny autumn days in a more amusing way than digging in the mud.
Your Cador
* * * *
It was the beginning of November before the marshes were drained close enough to the Mount of Frogs for them to move the siege engines forward. And just in time too — the sky was heavy with clouds. If it did not rain today, it would rain tomorrow.
It was time to attack.
Bedwyr leaned on the front pommels of his saddle, watching the catapults launch burning pitch at the wood and earthwork ramparts above, and rubbed his clean-shaven chin with one hand. "Very impressive, Farmer King. I never thought we could achieve so much so quickly."
Cador watched the missiles hit and catch. "Nor did I."
Arthur rode to the front of their troops. On the hill behind him, some of the wooden ramparts were burning brightly, set on fire by the flaming missiles. His expression was stern as he calmed a dancing Llamrei. The original Llamrei was long dead, of course, but Arthur had given the black mare who'd taken the place of the gray the same name. Just as he had named his new hound Cabal when the old one had died.
Just as he had chosen a young Dumnonian-Roman Ginevra to replace his first wife, the Rheged princess Gwenhwyfar.
Arthur was a man who liked things to proceed in the ways they always had.
"Yder knows these parts, and he and Gawain are leading a force through the swamp on the opposite side of the hill-fort from our siege engines," Arthur called out. "At the same time, Cai, Bedwyr and I will lead a force of riders on the drained side, while Cador and Medraut continue the barrage with the siege engines. Come men, it is time to take back our beacon!"
A cheer went up. "Britannia patria!" came the old war cry from hundreds of throats — even if there was little of Britannia left to defend. The idea of a united Britain was still behind the rallying cry Arthur had inherited from Ambrosius.
Cador and Medraut watched as British troops galloped across the drained swamp. Here and there a horse stumbled, but on the whole Cador was amazed at how well the plan had worked.
"Congratulations," Medraut said. "You are now officially a military genius."
For a moment, Cador didn't know how to respond to the insulting tone of the compliment. Had Medraut found out about the incident with Cwylli? No, that wasn't possible. Medraut would not stop at envious comments if that were the case.
"Oh, I only provided the farming expertise," Cador said lightly, trying to avoid any confrontation with the man who had only recently saved Arthur's life. "It was Kustennin who came up with the ide
a. And the weather played along."
"Yes, it did, didn't it?" Medraut said, his tone more non-committal this time. Together, they oversaw the details of warriors reloading the catapults. "So how comes it that you are here lighting pitch rather than riding with Gawain to battle?" Medraut asked.
Cador winced. Did Medraut always find a man's weakest spots?
"Congratulations, by the way, for stealing the Ice Queen away from him," Medraut added. "Gawain is too used to getting everything he wants."
"I would not see it that way," Cador said. "He was denied his patrimony, after all."
"Just as Cwylli has been denied her inheritance. But you have to admit, Gawain is one of Arthur's favorites."
"How are Cwylli and your new son?" Cador asked to steer the conversation in another direction.
"I hear they are well — I have yet to see Melehan. Arthur could have let me go to Caer Leon instead of sending me here when he refused to allow me to attend Gwythyr's funeral."
Cador shrugged and gave up, deciding to concentrate on the missiles for the catapults.
* * * *
Cador to Yseult, greetings.
As I'm sure you have heard by now, the draining of the marshes was successful, and we have retaken the Mount of Frogs.
I am writing you this from Lindinis. It is good to be back in the villa. Although I missed the harvest, there is still much to do to prepare for winter. The hay is dried, baled, and stored, and now that we know how much there is and how many animals can be fed through the cold months, the herds must be sorted and hogs (and perhaps some sheep) slaughtered.
My mother and I would like to extend an invitation to you to spend the Christmas season with us in Lindinis. That would also give the two of us the opportunity to plan our wedding in more detail.
I hope this letter finds you well and enjoying the company of your cousin Brangwyn.
Your Cador
Yseult lowered the letter with a shrug. For some reason, she had expected Cador to come to her first when the last Pict invaders were finally defeated. How very vain of her. Of course he had gone home to his villa rather than hurrying here to see her. Betrothed they might be, but lovers they were not.
Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) Page 15
