Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles)

by Ruth Nestvold

  Gawain nodded shortly. "She sounds like a clever woman. I will send one of my men to fetch backup." He glanced at the wide hill-fort of Caer Camulodon. "Even with several of us on the inside, it will not be easy to take back."

  Pabius's gaze followed his. "Hopefully our lies will buy us enough time."

  * * * *

  The banners now flying above the walls of the hill-fort were without device, simple flags of shimmering green. Gawain and Pabius and the rest of their company rode through gates thrown open in welcome once Pabius announced them. A powerful warrior in a tunic of the same shimmering green emerged from the main hall, a veiled woman on his arm, her skirts swaying with lithe grace as she walked. At least Gawain was not so far gone with disappointed love that he could not appreciate a shapely figure.

  The pair stopped in front of them, and the warrior in green spoke in accents of the north that brought back memories of Gawain's youth. "Well met, Father Pabius. But I do not see my future bride's cousin among your number."

  Pabius clambered down from his mule, the rest of them following suit. "She is detained. She has a Christmas wedding to attend in Glevum, but she sends word that she will come to Caer Camulodon as soon as the festivities are over." Pabius turned to Ragnell. "I hope you will be able to delay your own ceremony long enough to have your loved ones here to witness it."

  "Of course," she said quickly — presumably before her "betrothed" could protest. Then Ragnell threw back her veil, and Gawain saw why she affected such an unusual headdress — more than half of her face was disfigured with what looked like burns, the skin puckered and discolored, her features misshapen and monstrous, one eye strangely pale and dead.

  Pabius drew in a shocked breath. "Ragnell! What happened to you?"

  She shrugged. "An accident some years ago. I do not like to speak of it."

  Pabius turned back to the warrior in green, obviously uncomfortable. "Before the wedding, I will also need your name and place of birth for the church records, my lord ... "

  There was a pause. "Bertilak," the new lord of the hill-fort said.

  "Lord Bertilak," Pabius said, not pressing him about his place of birth. "We have a long, cold journey behind us and we crave your hospitality."

  The outlaw turned lord obviously did not have much practice in the formalities of kingship. Ragnell stepped forward. "Please forgive us in being remiss, Pabius. A house has been prepared for you and the rest of your retinue, and I will arrange for refreshment immediately. This way, please."

  She turned and led them through buildings of wood and stone, populated by warriors in green and women and servants with expressions of dread on their faces. Gawain watched her swaying walk, thinking what a pity it was that her face was so disfigured. At a small house with a thatched roof, she stopped and pushed open the door, stepping aside to allow them to enter ahead of her.

  "I am glad you received my message," she said after the door had swung shut behind them. "Thank you for coming."

  Pabius dropped his saddlebags on the packed earth. "I am glad you sent for me; I am only sorry I could not be here sooner. Let me introduce you to the humble brethren who accompanied me on my journey."

  Gawain had to admire Pabius's talent for strategic prevarication and misdirection. His men were no less clever; as Pabius said their names, they knelt briefly in front of Ragnell, offering her a nonexistent sword before rising again.

  "And Brother Gaw," Pabius said. Gawain too knelt as his men had before him, while Pabius added under his breath so that only she could hear: "Wain."

  Ragnell's good eye widened, and she clenched her hands in front of her waist. "I am honored that you were all willing to accompany Father Pabius on my behalf."

  Gawain rose. "It is we who are honored to be of service, Lady."

  She gazed at him with that face, mostly ravaged and still partly beautiful, and he had an odd moment in which the image shifted in his mind's eye, completing the beauty and taking his breath away.

  "I must go to the kitchens now and see to beer and wine and bread," she said, hurrying out of the guest house.

  "Excuse me," they heard her say immediately after the door closed behind her — obviously one of Bertilak's men had been waiting outside. "You do not have to protect me all the time. They are men of God."

  "Certainly, Lady Ragnell."

  Gawain and the others looked at each other, and there was no need to speak what they all knew: they would have to tread very carefully.

  * * * *

  Gawain wandered the perimeter of the hill-fort, trying to look humble — and examining the defenses at the same time. The weather was still cold, but it was sunnier today, less gray and dismal, with no sign of sleet. He gazed at the earthworks and the green clad warriors posted at regular intervals. Were there any weaknesses they could use to their advantage? How had Bertilak taken the hill-fort in the first place? It was an impressive site, high and wide, with a series of ditches and ramparts on the steep slopes that would make it fairly easy to defend. On the other hand, the size of the flat hilltop would require a large warband to fight off attack — perhaps Ragnell's father had not had enough men at his disposal? One of the things they would have to do while here would be to count the fighting men in Bertilak's service; if they could come up with a good estimate, they would have a better idea of how many men would be necessary to retake Caer Camulodon.

  If only there were a way to speak with Ragnell in private; perhaps she remembered something of how the battle had progressed and how the attackers had won.

  "Brother Gaw."

  Gawain turned, wondering if she had some of the same magic as Yseult — it was as if she had read his mind.

  He bowed his head as he thought a priest would. "Lady Ragnell. How is it that none of Bertilak's men are following you now?"

  She threw back her veils and laughed, a bright, pleasant sound, surprising given her recent trials. "They think me in the kitchens, where I belong. But I slipped out. I wanted to speak with you."

  "And I with you, Lady."

  She gave him a smile, an odd-looking expression in the middle of her ruined face, and it struck him that her mouth was unharmed, the lips full and red. The destruction of her beauty passed from her right jawbone diagonally across her features, puckering and discoloring the skin from cheek to forehead, but leaving her lips untouched. Even her left profile showed traces of ravished skin, but her lips had somehow escaped the results of the accident.

  "What would the great Lord Gawain want with such a one as me?" she murmured, yanking him out of the contemplation of the landscape of her face.

  He attempted another obeisance appropriate for a monk. "I was hoping you would be able to tell me something of the battle so that I might understand how Bertilak was able to take this place," he whispered.

  "Would you care to accompany me back to the kitchens, Brother Gaw?" she said, her voice at a natural volume.

  "Certainly, Lady Ragnell," Gawain said.

  As they ambled towards the kitchen buildings, Ragnell indicated a dip in the defensive earthworks that Gawain had not yet noticed. "The main attack was from the south. They must have scouted the hill-fort thoroughly before they attacked, and most likely they knew that my brothers were both ill."

  "How many men did your father have?"

  "Just after harvest and before snow?" she asked in return. "Well under a hundred. War is not normally conducted in winter — there is too little plunder on the road and too great a chance one's own troops will not survive the adventure."

  "That may be precisely what Bertilak was counting on," Gawain murmured. "A hill-fort in its peaceful winter sleep."

  Ragnell shrugged. "I still think he knew about the puking sickness that had been plaguing us and the surrounding villages and decided to take advantage of it. It was not life-threatening, except for the very old and the very young, but it put a swath of warriors besides my brothers in their beds rather than on the ramparts."

  He wanted to take her hand, give her wha
tever comfort he could. He imagined that many of those puking warriors, up to and including her brothers, had died in their beds or not far away.

  "I'm sorry about your losses," Gawain said.

  "Thank you." She rubbed her good eye briefly and continued. "The green warrior has help of some powerful magic somehow, but it is not here; he is calling on it from elsewhere."

  It appeared she did have some of the powers of the Old Race — unless she was one of those who could recognize magic without being able to cast it herself. "But you cannot identify it?"

  She shook her head.

  "Have Bertilak's men at least treated you well since they took the fort?" Gawain asked.

  Ragnell looked away, and all he could see was the smooth plane of her undamaged cheek, beguiling, alluring. What a beauty she would have been if not for the accident.

  "Better than might have been expected, for several reasons." She faced him, gazing directly into his eyes. "How many men would want to rape a monster with this face?"

  He held her gaze, not answering immediately. The truth of the matter was, men were not very picky when it came to post-battle rape. Arthur forbade it among his men, but Gawain had seen the victims many times, and the one thing most of them had in common was that they were female.

  "Then they left you untouched?" he asked, hoping it was not too intimate a question. But it was she who had begun the talk of rape.

  Her lips turned up in a bitter, sad smile. "Not completely. The usurper wanted to stake a claim on me. At least I am not pregnant."

  Gawain drew in a deep breath. "I'm sorry." But at the same time it occurred to him that this, much more than her disfigurement, was the reason she had not been raped repeatedly by the men in Bertilak's warband. If their leader claimed her, intending to marry her to legitimize his position as new lord in Caer Camulodon, then she was off limits to the rest of his men.

  "I'm not," Ragnell said.

  He realized how it must have sounded. "I am sorry for what you have gone through, not that you are not with child."

  She chuckled — an astonishing sound, given the topic of their conversation. Gawain shook his head and looked at her, a question in his eyes.

  "Oh, I understood what you meant," she said. "It is just that I have a tendency to be perversely literal at times."

  To his surprise, he found he liked that about her. There was courage in her that spoke to him, that gave him a feeling of connectedness. It reminded him a little of his aunt Gwenhwyfar, truth be told — Ragnell's dead cousin who had been requested to appear at the wedding.

  She began to walk along the perimeter of the earthworks, Gawain beside her. "While we have this opportunity, I want to tell you how honored I am that you have come to my assistance," she said quietly.

  Gawain shrugged. "You are kin. And your ancestral seat is important strategically for Britain."

  "Yes, it is, isn't it." This time, he couldn't tell if she were bitter or amused. She stopped, lifted a hand to his cheek, and stretched up to kiss him softly on the lips before he even knew what she was about. "You have my thanks anyway."

  Then she turned and hurried away in the direction of the kitchens while Gawain stood staring after her, wondering what had just happened.

  His lips tingled.

  * * * *

  "I inspected the defenses and spoke with Ragnell about the battle," Gawain whispered to the others that night in the house they shared. "We need to get word out that the fortifications in the south are weakest."

  "It is such a shame about Ragnell," Pabius said. "I hadn't seen her for several years, and I didn't know about the accident. Such a beauty she was."

  Gaheris raised one eyebrow. "I thought Christian priests paid no attention to such things?"

  Pabius smiled and shook his head. "I am sure there are such men among the priesthood, but those I know are not blind to the charms of an attractive woman. And young Ragnell was certainly that. But the accident would explain why she never married."

  Gawain pulled the priest's garb over his head, feeling much more himself as soon as the humble robes were off. He found he had no stomach for talking about Ragnell and her misfortunes with a group of men, even if one of them was a priest. It was coming precariously close to the kind of talk men shared around the campfire, discussing women like a favorite horse or a well-fought battle.

  He turned to Gareth and Gaheris. "We can't expect reinforcements from Caer Leon in much less than two weeks, even if they are riding hard. Any suggestions what we can do in the meantime to increase our chances of victory?"

  "We would make ourselves suspicious if we tried to weaken the defenses, even at night," Gareth said slowly. "I think our preparations will have to be limited to the village. Assuming the villagers can be trusted?" he added, turning to Pabius.

  "I will speak with the priest again, but my first impression was that there is much support for Ragnell in Caer Camulodon."

  Gawain laid his bedroll out on the mattress of straw closest to the door. "We should consult with Bertilak about the wedding festivities. That would give us a good excuse to move back and forth between the hill-fort and the village."

  "Yes," Pabius agreed, lying down on his own pallet.

  Gawain raised the oil lamp. "We will have much to do on the morrow. Good night."

  He blew out the flame and lay down, only to be assaulted by the memory of Ragnell's sad, brave smile. He would do everything is his ability to give her back something of what she once had.

  And then he realized that his first thought upon seeking his bed had not been of Yseult — perhaps for the first time since she had told him she would be marrying Cador.

  Truth be told, he had not thought of Yseult for almost a whole day.

  He laced his fingers behind his head and gazed up into the darkness. Was he finally beginning to recover from the most severe bout of disappointed love he'd ever experienced? Or was it simply that beauty, ugliness, mystery, and a hill-fort to be retaken were enough to distract him for a time?

  * * * *

  Gareth made the most convincing monk among them, Gawain thought, glancing at his youngest brother as he bowed his head over the first course of duck eggs with pine nut sauce at dinner the next day. And he a married man with a steadily increasing family. But there was something innocent about Gareth, always had been.

  Ragnell had organized an exceptional meal, if the duck eggs were any indication. The nutty sauce had just the right hint of honey and vinegar to make it interesting without being too sour or too sweet.

  "What kind of wedding festivities are you planning once Ragnell's cousin arrives?" Pabius asked Bertilak between bites. The priest had been given the seat of honor next to their "host" — while Gawain sat opposite next to Ragnell, squirming every time the warrior in green took his betrothed's hand possessively. He couldn't forget what she had told him the day before, and he couldn't help wanting to jump up and wring the man's neck.

  Especially since Bertilak did his very best to avoid looking at her, despite all his show of possession.

  Bertilak tried to hide his surprise at the priest's question, and there was a brief moment of embarrassed silence.

  "We have not yet given much thought to festivities," Ragnell said, jumping in for a man who deserved no such defense. But of course it was also embarrassing for her that her future husband did not deem their upcoming nuptials worthy of celebration.

  Gawain's urge to wring his neck grew stronger.

  Next to him, Gaheris laid a hand on his arm. "Is something amiss, brother Gaw?"

  "The food is richer than I am used to."

  Gaheris nodded knowingly. Then under his breath so that only Gawain could hear he whispered, "Calm down, brother; this is not the place to let your temper get the better of you."

  "I can have simpler fare brought if the duck eggs are too rich for you," Ragnell said.

  "Perhaps that would be better, Lady." Gawain found the dish excellent, but it seemed necessary to go along with the pretense, see
ing as he had already drawn attention to himself with his reaction.

  She smiled and motioned a servant to her side, and in that moment, Gawain once again saw her face whole as it must have once been, smooth and pure and framed by soft brown hair glinting in a kaleidoscope of shades in the candlelight.

  "Will any of your relatives be coming for the wedding?" Pabius asked.

  Bertilak flinched. "The only one left to me is my sister, and she is not fit to travel."

  Gawain glanced between Ragnell and the green knight — he could have sworn that she stiffened at the mention of Bertilak's sister. Was that perhaps the source of the magic she had alluded to earlier?

  "I am sorry to hear it," Pabius was saying now. "Will you be holding a feast day for the villagers? It would be proper to give them a chance to celebrate such an important event for you and your betrothed."

  Bertilak nodded. "An excellent idea."

  "Might it be possible to get a silk veil for the ceremony from Eburacum?" Ragnell asked.

  "Certainly, my dear," Bertilak said, still not looking at her.

  Gaheris touched his arm surreptitiously again before Gawain could react. It was beginning to look like he would be very much in his brother's debt by the end of this particular adventure.

  * * * *

  Something had woken him, the faintest of scratchings on the door. He pushed himself up, small sword in hand. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dark, and he looked around; to his surprise, none of the other warriors had awoken at the noise. Had he imagined it?

  No, there it was again. But the other men continued to snore.

  A whisper. "Gawain."

  Ragnell.

  Gawain slipped out of the door as quietly as possible, clapped a hand over her mouth, and dragged her out of hearing distance behind a nearby storage hut. Only then did he release her.

  "Ragnell!" he said in a furious whisper. "What are you doing here? One of my men could have killed you inadvertently."

  "But you didn't kill me," she protested.

  "I recognized your voice."

  "As any of the other men might also have done," she pointed out pragmatically.

  She had a point. He returned to his original objection. "What are you doing here?"