Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles)

by Ruth Nestvold

  They neared the tavern where he and his friends had planned to meet. On such a mild summer evening, the place seemed too small, with customers spilling out onto the street, leaning against wall and pillar, or dragging chairs out where they could watch the life of the city pass by. Talk and laughter filled the air.

  Kustennin spotted Judual and the others in a shady corner under the portico. "There you are! I'm afraid I won't be joining you today after all. Celemon has invited me over for supper."

  He saw the looks that passed between his friends, the glances that shot from him to Celemon and back, and he wanted to laugh out loud, wanted to tell them, but she's just Cai's daughter Celemon, the next best thing to a sister, certainly not worth these looks heavy with meaning!

  Loholt was the first to respond. "Well, if tavern grub is no longer enough to hold you, by all means, go."

  Kustennin laughed. "I will most likely be right here with all of you tomorrow."

  Smiling, Judual let his eyes wander just a fraction longer than normal over Celemon. "Certainly."

  A knowing look in his eyes, Arthur's bastard son Anir, the oldest of their group, waved one hand in dismissal. "Go. Enjoy your dinner."

  Kustennin returned the smile. "Thank you. I will."

  Strange the way his friends were reacting — it was only Celemon, after all, the tall, gangly girl he'd spent much of his youth with.

  As they walked away from the tavern, he glanced over at her. Perhaps she wasn't so lanky anymore, he just hadn't noticed it before, the way his memories of her always mixed with what was there before his eyes, like the writing that had been wiped off a wax tablet but still left its mark. He started to see her through his friends' eyes, saw why they lingered when they rested on her. Yes, she was tall, and she would probably never be buxom like Generys, but soft curves were recognizable under the flowing linen of her tunic. Her hair, an average shade somewhere between blond and brown, was bound in a thick braid that ran down her back — very far down her back.

  Kustennin watched the end of her braid bounce against the pale fabric of her shift and found himself entertaining disconcerting thoughts about his old childhood playmate.

  Luckily, they soon reached Cai's residence in Caer Leon, a new building of wood but in the Roman style, erected after much of the western corner of the town had been destroyed in a battle against Erainn invaders. As they entered the atrium, Cai came out to meet them, much taller and much blonder than his daughter, still the epitome of a hero, despite the strands of gray now lacing the hair at his temples.

  "So you decided to bring an unannounced guest to supper." Cai extended his hand to Kustennin. "Well met, Kustennin. I have seen little of you at weapons practice recently, and when I do, there is no time to talk."

  "Arthur had me take a band of recruits on a twenty-mile march yesterday." Kustennin chuckled. "And here I barely feel like much more than a recruit myself!"

  Cai signaled for food and drink to be brought and led them to benches in a shady alcove. "Being a king, it is more important that you learn how to lead than follow."

  "That I understand. The marching less so, since Arthur relies so heavily on cavalry."

  "But how many mounts will we be able to transport across the sea if we move against Chlodovech? We may well be marching more often than we do on campaigns here in Britain."

  A servant arrived with fruit and wine, and Kustennin helped himself gladly.

  "What is this, Celemon," came a laughing voice from the entrance. "Yet another rival?"

  Kustennin looked over to see Aurelius, followed closely by his mother Modrun. Rival?

  Celemon rose with a smile, her hands outstretched, and the young prince took them and gave her a lingering kiss on both cheeks. After the death of Modrun's husband Honorius, the kingdom of Gower had been bestowed on Iddon, and Gwent on Caradoc, with Aurelius named heir to both.

  Cai and Modrun exchanged a meaningful look, while Celemon and Aurelius continued to hold hands in the middle of the atrium. Kustennin found himself clenching his hands at his sides — a reaction which made no sense whatsoever. Not that it was any comfort.

  Finally Celemon dropped Aurelius's hands. "Come, you know Kustennin is no rival! He is like a brother to me." She turned to Kustennin. "It is not yet official, but since Aurelius blabbed all, you should know that we are soon to be betrothed."

  Kustennin rose. "Congratulations."

  "Well, it is done now," Cai said. "But you are very nearly family, after all. We were in negotiations with King Owain regarding his son Cuneglas and his nephew Maelgwyn. But Celemon wanted to remain closer to Caer Leon."

  "Not very flattering, Celemon," Aurelius said with a smile. "You could at least claim to like me best."

  Celemon laughed. "Of course I like you best! But I also like Caer Gwent."

  Kustennin tried to ignore the flirtatious banter. It shouldn't matter to him; while a number of prospective brides had been suggested to him since he had reached the age of choice, marriage had been very far from his mind — until now.

  Then why was he feeling as if he'd missed a chance he never had?

  * * * *

  Life in Caer Leon continued in its normal fashion: an alternating regime of weapons practice, mock skirmishes, marches, and riding during the day, finished most evenings by a meal with his friends in their favorite tavern, not without generous quantities of ale and wine. Celemon's formal betrothal ceremony was set for the beginning of August. With that, his childhood companion would be as good as wed.

  Kustennin threw himself into training, chastising himself for feeling such irrational disappointment. He had enough real worries to occupy his mind. They still had no news from Eriu, but the rumors that reached them were not good. Kustennin could only hope his mother would be able to get out when she had a chance.

  Arthur had taken Bedwyr and a large detail of warriors and ridden east to inspect the situation on the borders to the Saxon kingdoms, as he did every year since the victory at Caer Baddon. Before they left, he had given Kustennin his first command of a small troop — and one of those under Kustennin's command was Arthur's son Loholt.

  On a day late in July, Loholt drew him aside. "Kustennin, it's the hottest day we've had in a long time. I think it's about time we all jumped in the river for a little swimming practice."

  Kustennin smiled ruefully. "You think I need to cool down?"

  "Yes. But more than that, we all need to cool down."

  He glanced at the red, sweaty faces of the men. "I think you're right." He clapped his hands. "Enough! Time to go to the river for some swimming!"

  While the recruits were too disciplined to cheer, he heard a sigh of relief here and there and could feel the exhaustion roll off them like a wave.

  They marched from the practice grounds to the banks of the river.

  "Are you worried about your mother?" Loholt asked.

  "It's hard, not knowing anything." He frowned, thinking about how long it had been since they had news. Perhaps he should pay a visit to Aircol of Demetia; he too had relatives in Eriu — he might know more.

  They reached the banks of the River Usk, and Kustennin turned to the recruits. "I assume you all know how to swim?"

  The men nodded enthusiastically.

  "Today you can lay off your armor and whatever else you feel comfortable with. Next time, we'll practice crossing the river in chainmail!"

  His announcement was greeted by a combination of groans and laughter as the men began to throw down their weapons and strip.

  Loholt clapped him on the back. "There on the practice field, they were on the verge of quitting. Now they are grateful to have you leading their unit, since they are the only ones in the river right now."

  Kustennin pulled his tunic over his head and watched as the first naked male ass disappeared into the waters of the Usk. "But I should not have pushed them so far in the first place," he said as he began to untie his trousers.

  Loholt shrugged and kicked his own trousers off his feet.
"We all need to be challenged now and then."

  "I'm glad you think so," Kustennin said, pushing him in the direction of the river — and trying to ignore the way he was moved by Loholt's blond male beauty. What was the matter with him these days? Was he starting to lust after everything with two legs? Luckily he hadn't yet showed a weakness for sheep.

  "Kustennin, are you not going to join us?" Loholt called from the bank of the river.

  "Of course!"

  He stepped out of his own trousers and followed his men into the river, allowing the cool water to wash off sweat and worry alike.

  Just as the last of his men reached the opposite side of the river, a cry went up behind them. Kustennin turned and looked around, trying to make out what was going on. Soldiers ran out of the amphitheater in the direction of the practice grounds, calling out to each other. Finally he made sense of what they were yelling: Cai was injured and the Queen taken.

  Kustennin glanced over at Loholt beside him. Only one woman in Caer Leon would be referred to as "the Queen": Loholt's mother Ginevra.

  * * * *

  With Cai unable to ride a horse and Arthur and Bedwyr somewhere on the border of Ceint, Gaheris, Gareth, and Medraut took over organizing search parties. The abduction had taken place while the Master of Horse was helping Ginevra put some likely mares through their paces. The kidnappers had ridden south with the queen and taken the mares as well.

  "They will not harm her," Kustennin murmured to Loholt. "Whoever took her, they will want her for ransom."

  "I know," Loholt said shortly.

  Kustennin pushed the wet hair out of his forehead; he could well imagine how little comfort his words gave. The only thing that would help both him and Loholt now would be to know their mothers safe.

  Loholt refused to be left behind, and Kustennin insisted on going with him. Dogs were called for and the search party set off, following the river west and south on the trail of the outlaws.

  They rode for much of the afternoon without a sign of their quarry. As they neared the site of the monastery school, Kustennin spotted Gildas with a party of riders coming in their direction.

  "Medraut!" Gildas hailed them when he recognized his brother-in-law. "Illtud has news you must hear. We were bringing the message to Caer Leon."

  Gildas informed them that several of Illtud's pupils had seen a woman with her head covered being taken through the nearby woods. Not only that, a farmer had brought news of strange warriors near his land. Illtud had already set out with an armed party for an abandoned hill-fort not far away from the school; he suspected the outlaws might have made it their camp.

  Riding hard, their search party soon caught up with the priest and his warriors. "A peasant I just spoke to thinks he recognized Queen Ginevra, bound over the rump of a horse," Illtud said after they had exchanged hurried greetings. "They were riding for the hill-fort, as we suspected."

  Kustennin could feel Loholt's anger. He only hoped his friend would not act rashly when they came upon the outlaws.

  "The peasant will be richly rewarded," Medraut said.

  The outlaws had posted a lookout, but they brought the man down before he could sound the alarm. Surprise was on their side — and the deterioration of the old hill-fort's defenses didn't hurt either.

  Kustennin galloped into the camp beside Loholt, hoping he would be able to come to the younger man's aid if necessary. The outlaws jumped up, grabbing their weapons, but they had no time to mount. Those not cut down where they stood were trampled under the hooves of a war horse. One of their number grabbed Ginevra's arm to pull her up and use her as a shield, but with a bone-chilling war cry, Medraut swung his sword at the man's neck, slicing it open to the spine. The man screamed and fell to the ground.

  Ginevra stood in their midst, trembling and pale and drenched in blood from the slaughter. Loholt jumped down from his mare and took her shoulders in a firm grip. "Mother! Are you all right?"

  She nodded slowly, but Kustennin saw the way her hands trembled.

  "He said his name was Maelwys," she said, her voice sounding distant. "He said he was descended from kings."

  Medraut snorted. "In these hills, everyone is descended from kings."

  Ginevra lifted her hands and loosened Loholt's grip on her shoulders. "Thank you, my son." Her gazed wandered through the rest of their party, settling on Medraut. "Thank you."

  Medraut dismounted and strode forward, taking Ginevra's hand and bowing over it. "It was only our duty, Lady."

  She continued to hold his hand. "No. More."

  The rest of them had also dismounted by now out of respect for the queen and stood gazing at the tableau playing out in front of them. A dazed Ginevra stared at Medraut as if he alone was her savior. Kustennin caught her torn feelings as she gazed at her husband's nephew; Cai had been injured in trying to defend her, but Medraut had rescued her.

  No, Kustennin did not want to know these things, did not want to be privy to the emotional life of Arthur's wife.

  And then he noticed that Loholt was watching him, was following the course of his gaze, and he saw the way his young friend pressed his lips together. He wanted to reassure Loholt, but how he could do that in the midst of dozens of fighting men?

  "Find a horse for the queen!" Medraut commanded, oblivious to the drama playing out next to him in a series of speaking looks. He strode towards the edge of the gathering, calling for the mares stolen from Caer Leon. Before Kustennin knew what he was about, Loholt hurried after Medraut and grabbed his elbow. Kustennin wished he'd reacted in time, could have held Loholt back and kept him from a confrontation with his cousin, here, in such a public situation. But if he tried to do anything now, he would only draw more attention to the brewing conflict.

  Instead, he went to Ginevra and laid an arm around her shoulders. "Come, sit down until a mount has been found for you."

  Ginevra nodded and allowed him to lead her to a tumble of rocks that would do as a seat. Gently, he pressured her to sit down with him — facing away from Medraut and Loholt.

  He saw a hint of tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Kustennin."

  Behind him, he could feel the low words Loholt was throwing at Medraut: You will stay away from my mother or I will be forced to see that you are no longer welcome in Caer Leon.

  Kustennin prayed to any gods who would listen that no one else in their party heard those words or understood what was taking place between the cousins. When there was no reply from Medraut, he heaved a sigh of relief.

  It seemed wisdom had won out this day — for once.

  Chapter 20

  Nor in his life did he ever do but one unlawful thing, that is, against Loholt, King Arthur's son, whom he killed in the Perilous Forest, and he was accused in court by Perceval the Welshman, who had been told about it by a hermit who saw him slay him.

  "The Vulgate Cycle" (Anonymous)

  A week after Ginevra's rescue from Maelwys, Arthur returned to Caer Leon with Bedwyr, but without Peredur and a large number of their men. The head of the church in Verulamium had complained about the loss of a valuable bowl, and Arthur had assigned a detail of warriors under Peredur's command to go in search of the thieves.

  Outlaws were becoming an ever more serious problem in Britain.

  Kustennin rubbed his chin absently as he listened to Arthur's companions discuss how to deal with the threat. None of the suggestions addressed the real problem — that there was no longer any central authority in Britain. Yes, the standing army in Caer Leon could patrol the roads in the southwest, but there were more and more kings now, from Natanleod to the east and Maelgwyn to the north and any number in between, who neither wanted to participate in the defense of Britain as a whole, nor welcomed any "foreign" troops in their territory.

  Arthur would never admit it, but the ideal of a united Britain that he still held high was no more, not really. A few kings of the southwest still stood together, mostly those of Dumnonia, Gwent, Gower, and Demetia, but many of the rest cared only for thei
r own kingdoms — and their own glory.

  The kings of the southwest agreed to raise additional troops to act as mobile defensive units on the roads between Dumnonia and Demetia and root out bandits in the hills. Kustennin couldn't help wondering what would come of the plan, though, with the threat of Chlodovech in Gaul looming larger and larger.

  Despite the threats from within and without, Celemon's betrothal ceremony proceeded as scheduled. Cai had recovered from his injuries and Arthur was confident that at least the woods around Caer Leon were safe again.

  As high point of the festivities, Cai had organized a hunt for the guests. They were still sitting at supper when the huntsman who had been sent out to the nearby forests returned to Caer Leon with the news that he had located the prey, a hart in the woods to the north.

  The excitement was great the next morning on the parade grounds northwest of the old Roman amphitheater. Kustennin could feel the collective anticipation even before he heard the hysterical yapping of the hounds. He spied Loholt, Judual, and Anir on the fringes of the gathering and rode over to them, doing his best to ignore the way Celemon was leaning across the neck of her roan mare towards Aurelius.

  Just as he reached his friends, the huntsman began to bellow out instructions. Unfortunately, the barking of the eager hounds was so loud that he couldn't understand a word. So be it. He didn't think there was much he really needed to know; he was just along for the wild ride.

  Then the huntsman holding the lines for the dogs unleashed them, and they were off.

  "Good morning!" he called out over the noise of hooves and laughter and baying hounds.

  "You're late!" Loholt called back.

  "But not too late!"

  Once in the woods, they soon sighted the hart, just as the huntsman had predicted. The chase was on. Kustennin felt his heart beating faster and exhilaration race through his veins. The deer was fast and graceful, but the dogs were persistent — and they vastly outnumbered the panicked buck. The prey had next to no chance of escaping. The head huntsman had already positioned a number of dogs on a path in the woods to take over from the first batch when they grew tired. As strong and graceful as the deer was, it would be outrun; and even though he knew the outcome, Kustennin still could not help being caught up in the excitement of the chase.