Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles)

by Ruth Nestvold

  Cador gazed at his foster son for a moment, and slowly it came to him that the young king was probably right. Although the appearance of Hoel on the scene with the British infantry had swayed the battle in Arthur's favor, the situation for Chlodovech had been far from hopeless when he made the decision to retreat. But it had not occurred to Cador that the move could be a trap.

  "Arthur's understanding of the battlefield has always been brilliant," Cador said slowly as they rode for the fortress walls.

  After Chlodovech's retreat, the residents of Diablintis who had found refuge in the fortress emerged from their sanctuary with a strange tale to tell — a tale that tended to confirm Arthur's suspicions. After the Frankish forces took the city, they made no attempt to besiege the fortress. Instead, they practiced arms in the fields to the west. Of course, with Chlodovech just outside their walls, no one in Diablintis had been interested in trying to escape; the mere presence of the enemy army was as good as a siege. Nonetheless, the magistrate could not really explain why the Frankish forces had not even tried to take the fort once they had occupied the city.

  It only remained to be seen whether Chlodovech would return once it was clear the British armies were not willing to follow.

  * * * *

  Waiting for news from Arthur's scouting parties provided a welcome break from the many months of riding and marching and fighting. But some were not as happy with the forced inactivity as Cador — especially once the weather turned bad and sunny fall days were replaced by cold rains containing the first hint of winter.

  When the third scouting party returned with no news as to Chlodovech's movements, some of the local leaders began to rebel.

  "We cannot just sit here and wait for Chlodovech to bring an even greater army down on us," Budic protested during a meeting in Arthur's tent.

  Arthur looked at his brother-in-law. "We are watching out for attack. What more do you propose we do?"

  "Can you not send for more men? Then we could chase Chlodovech away and banish the threat he poses for good!"

  "All the men Britain can spare are here already," Arthur said quietly. To those in the tent who knew him well, his anger was obvious. "Most of the kings there regard this as a foreign war. Armorica provided little assistance in the wars against the Saxons, after all — and none in our recent battles to send Pictish invaders north again. If the only contribution you can make is to beg for more men from across the Gaulish Sea, we will have no need of your advice in the future."

  Budic pressed his lips together, doing his best to keep his peace.

  The Dux Bellorum glanced at the other men in his tent. "Any suggestions more practical than sending to Britain for reinforcements we don't have?"

  "If we move in the direction of Riedonum, we might be able to convince the enemy we are giving up," Kustennin suggested.

  "To what aim?"

  "If you are right, and Chlodovech is trying to lure us farther into his territory, we could turn the tables on him, try to draw him to a location where the Armorican kings are at an advantage — and then fall on his army."

  "We are trying to defend the British kingdoms of Armorica, not throw them at the barbarian's feet!" Budic protested.

  Hoel laid a hand on his son-in-law's arm. "The young king of Dumnonia may have a point, Budic. Arthur is right to be suspicious at how easy it has been in these last few weeks to put the Frankish forces to flight."

  Before Budic was able to answer, there was the sound of hooves and a commotion outside the tent, guards calling halt, then a voice answering. "Here, the seal of Caer Leon. I would not have made it this far into your camp without it, you fools! I have an urgent message for the Dux Bellorum! It took me too long to find you as it is."

  As if with one mind, they had all drawn their swords and surrounded Arthur, ready to protect him with their lives in case it was a trick. As if he were a king.

  The messenger threw back the flap of the tent and tumbled to his knees at the sight of so many weapons pointed his way. He drew a piece of folded and sealed parchment out of his satchel and held it in Arthur's direction. "Important news, Dux! Your queen is taken!"

  Arthur stepped forward and held out one arm. "Stand down, my friends. I recognize this man — he is one of the city guard of Caer Leon. Has Ginevra taken any injury, Trevedic?" Not for the first time, Cador was impressed with the way Arthur seemed able to remember the name of any man who had ever served with him — surely one of his special talents as a war leader.

  Trevedic shook his head, obviously exhausted from his long journey. "No, Lord, not as far as we know. But there was a battle ..." He dropped his head and covered his eyes with one hand. At the same moment, Cador saw how Kustennin glanced from Gawain to Gaheris with dawning horror, and he knew what was coming.

  Arthur broke open the seal on the letter and scanned the lines. His free hand balled into a fist, and then he held the parchment out to Cador. "Is this your wife's handwriting?"

  Cador glanced at the lines and nodded. Arthur drew the parchment away again, but not before Cador saw the name he feared to see. Gareth.

  The Dux Bellorum rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger and then looked up again. With a deep sigh, his eyes sought his nephews Gawain and Gaheris. "Medraut and Ginevra have run off together. While trying to stop them, your brother Gareth was killed."

  The silence seemed to stretch out, although in truth it was only a few moments. Then suddenly a roar of rage, as Gaheris charged Medraut's father Budic and took him by the throat. Budic screamed and clawed at the thumbs on his wind pipe, while half-a-dozen warriors grabbed Gaheris, wrenching him off of Arthur's brother-in-law.

  "Madman!" Budic choked.

  Gaheris, still struggling against the men who held him, spat at Budic's feet. "Father of a murderer, a traitor, and an adulterer!"

  Gawain seemed to finally recover his senses and leaned over to speak low in his brother's ear. Gaheris let out a wail of mourning that chilled Cador's heart. "Gareth!"

  Then he slumped against the men who held him, weeping in the huge, wrenching sobs of a man who did not know how to cry.

  Gawain spoke low to the men who held his brother, and they released Gaheris, allowing Gawain to put his arms around his shoulders. "Come, Gaheris."

  "You will let him leave unpunished?" Budic fumed as Gawain led Gaheris out of the tent. "He attacked me!"

  Arthur gazed at his sister Anna's husband for a long moment without answering. "I believe the extent of his grief justifies his behavior."

  Budic stormed out after the grieving brothers. Arthur turned to Bedwyr. "Please follow and make sure no one is hurt."

  After Bedwyr too had left, Hoel stepped forward. "Arthur, I beg you, do not allow this to compromise your campaign against Chlodovech. He will overrun Armorica if he is not checked. And I swear to you by all to me that is holy, Medraut is no longer a grandchild of mine."

  "Those are drastic words, Hoel."

  "And I mean them. Armorica has had enough murderous kings already." Hoel's gaze strayed to Kustennin, whose legal father Marcus Cunomorus — also an Armorican king — had murdered his own son Drystan. Hoel returned his attention to Arthur. "I will have papers drawn up to exclude Medraut from the kinship group. If he is dreaming of uniting the kingdoms of Cerniw on either side of the sea, I will see to it that it never happens."

  Arthur did not react for a long moment. "I can make no decisions now. I beg you all to leave. I must consider."

  Cador turned away and filed out of the tent with the rest of Arthur's companions. The cold wind and rain suited him now, fitting the dismal mood. At the same time, he had not yet comprehended the news in any real way, only as abstract words telling of catastrophe.

  Kustennin caught up with him and touched his arm. "Cador?"

  He shook his head. "We will talk later."

  He strode through the pelting rain in the direction of the temple complex. Arthur's nephew Medraut had run off with Ginevra, and Gareth was dead. Any normal man would have imme
diately broken camp and commanded his forces to follow him home. But Arthur — Arthur was Dux Bellorum.

  Cador passed through the walls they had so recently used for shelter against Chlodovech and continued to the central temple building. He had no idea which god or goddess had once been worshipped here, he merely hoped to find some comfort amid stones that were old and once sacred. Medraut and Ginevra. Gareth dead. Medraut as consort of the Queen of Cerniw — with his own power base. Surely Arthur could not mean to let his nephew go unpunished? Yes, Medraut had saved his life in the battle of Abona, but much had happened since. Still, a life was a life. The years Arthur had continued to live since Medraut had diverted that Pictish blade were years he would not have had without the intervention of his nephew.

  And without the action of Medraut and his men, Arthur would not have been alive to pressure the two surviving rulers of Dumnonia to wed. Despite the pain his marriage had caused him, Cador knew he could not regret marrying Yseult, could not regret having a daughter he had not yet even seen.

  Cador too was in Medraut's debt.

  * * * *

  In the weeks that followed, Arthur steadfastly ignored advice that he return to Britain and deal with Medraut's abduction of his wife. Naturally enough, Gawain and Gaheris found this stubbornness particularly hard to accept and continued to question Arthur's judgment in the regular meetings of Arthur's companions.

  On a day of alternating sunshine and darkness, a day on which the leaves of the trees on the edges of the British camp seemed to be squandering colors in every possible hue of sunlight and fire, the conflict came to a head. They had made camp on a small river feeding into the Liger. A brief autumn storm had just passed, and the late afternoon sun lit up the trees in a blaze of color against the dark sky. The beauty of it reminded Cador of the pain and joy of the last years, the dark and the light, contrast that made the colors come into such sharp relief.

  After yet another skirmish with Chlodovech, they had begun a march in the direction of Gwitreg and the border to Armorica. The Frankish king had once again danced away from them, retreating south this time in the direction of Andecaves.

  Cador sat with Arthur, Bedwyr, Cai, and Kustennin, enjoying a beer and the break in the fighting. Nearby, Gawain stood with one hand on the hilt of his sword, his back as straight as a sword itself. He had again dared to question the wisdom of playing the Frankish king's game of cat and mouse. His last remaining brother, Gaheris, stood to the right and a step behind him, his expression stormy but his mouth closed. Gawain had apparently had a word with Gaheris before confronting Arthur.

  Cador found it hard to believe that he had once felt hatred for his friend, hatred at the simple act of writing a letter, hatred so strong he had sent his wife away, the woman he had loved since he was a youth, although for a time he had imagined it over. And then it took so little to rekindle his love for her.

  If he ever saw Yseult again, he would have to finally make that clear, perhaps even open his mind to her, allow her into his conflicting emotions. They were married, after all — and she had returned to him.

  But now Arthur rose and addressed Gawain, and Cador forced himself to concentrate on what was going on around him and not his fantasies of a harmonious life with Yseult.

  "I understand your need to avenge your brother," Arthur said, his hands clasped behind his back. He was not unaffected by his wife's betrayal, but neither did he want to deal with it, that was obvious. "But revenge will have to wait. The situation here is too precarious. If the Frankish tribes take over Armorica, next they will be attacking Britain."

  "You don't know that."

  "No, but the risk is too great. Chlodovech needs to be shown his limits."

  "Don't you want to retrieve your wife?" Gawain fumed. There were few people who could speak to Arthur in such a way, but Gawain was one of them.

  Arthur was quiet for a moment. "Yseult's missive made no mention of a kidnapping — if Ginevra has run off with Medraut of her own free will, then that is a personal problem I need not address now, in this situation. She has no need to be rescued, after all."

  "No," Gawain said quietly. "But her actions led to Gareth's death. I cannot forget that, even if you can." With that, he turned away and stomped off in frustration, Gaheris right behind, leaving the rest of them to their beer and uncomfortable silence. They all knew that if Arthur did not return to Britain soon, Gawain and Gaheris would leave on their own — and the brothers did not have enough men at their disposal to lay siege to Ginevra's seat at Celliwig.

  Arthur took a long draught and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. "And do you too think I should be running down my wife rather than keeping Chlodovech from overrunning Armorica?" he said to no one in particular.

  Silence descended upon the companions. When it had gone on too long, Cador cleared his throat. "If we returned to Britain, then I could finally see my baby daughter. But that has nothing to do with fighting either Chlodovech or Medraut. I'm afraid I cannot make a rational decision as to what would be best. On the other hand, this strategy you are following now is pulling your companions apart."

  Support came from Bedwyr. "Consider what Cador says, Arthur."

  Cai remained silent; he still did not feel comfortable enough with Arthur to speak his mind.

  "But from a military perspective, it does make sense to keep trying to push Chlodovech back," Kustennin threw in. "Without a check to his ambition, who knows where his lust to conquer would lead?"

  Arthur nodded. "Thank you, Kustennin."

  "But Britain is our home," Bedwyr said. "Not here."

  They all agreed that Chlodovech needed to be taught a lesson. But Cador was obviously not the only one who thought the Armorican kings should be the ones to do it. Hoel provided at least half their fighting force, but just days after the news of Medraut's betrayal reached them, Budic returned to his own seat with his troops. Hoel had sent men after his son-in-law, assuring them he would see to it that Budic "did not do anything treacherous."

  Of course, that did not mean Budic's son Medraut could be kept from doing anything more treacherous than he already had. And as long as Arthur was on the border between Frankish and Armorican territory, there was no guarantee he could react in time at more bad news from Britain.

  * * * *

  Cador to Yseult, greetings.

  The news you sent of Medraut's betrayal and Gareth's death has hit us all hard. But with Chlodovech's army harrying the border to Armorica, Arthur sees no way at present to return to Britain and address the issue, as you may have already heard through other sources. Arthur could no longer keep Gawain and Gaheris, however — they are returning to Caer Leon and hope to raise a strong enough army to attack Celliwig and avenge their brother's death. I can only hope that Arthur will consider his job here done before they do so and we can march against the traitor together.

  I realize the news you sent from Britain is bad, but despite that, every time I think of you returned safely, and with the child I had given up ever having, I do not care; my heart opens. Riona — what a lovely name. What is she like? Is she talking yet, walking? What color are her eyes? I don't know if you can imagine how I long to see her and hold her in my arms. But I will be a stranger to her. I will have to earn the role of father.

  As I do not know if you are still in Caer Leon or have moved on to Lindinis, I will send a copy of this letter to both places, in the hope that it will reach you as soon as possible.

  Wherever you are, I hope this finds you and Riona safe and well.

  Your Cador

  Yseult to Cador, greetings.

  Shortly after Medraut ran off with Ginevra, I removed to Lindinis, as you suspected. Before we left Caer Leon, I visited Illtud, where I ran into Gildas. He begged me to send you his apologies, which I found odd, but he said you would understand.

  We are doing well, as long as we do not dwell on political developments. Gareth's second-in-command has taken over as magistrate in Caer Leon, but when Gawain and Ga
heris return, they will most likely assume those duties. Before I left, I had word that Aurelius was successful in finding Kevern, the only surviving witness to Modrun's death. Kevern confirms that the "bandits" who murdered her were in Medraut's employ.

  For now Medraut is out of reach of justice, safe in the hill-fort of Celliwig with Ginevra's army. But Gawain and Gaheris will find ready allies in Modrun's sons.

  Brangwyn has come with us to Lindinis, but she means to return to Dyn Tagell before the first snow — assuming she can tear herself away from Riona. Life here now revolves around your daughter. Your mother dotes on her, as do we all. She has few words as yet, but she charms all who come near her, and that despite a noticeable lack of hair. But her eyes are large and bright, of a light brown hue similar to yours, and the smiles and grimaces with which she communicates are truly creative.

  Believe me, she will not care that you are a stranger — she will do her best to charm you as she does everyone, glad you are such an easy conquest. All fathers must earn the love of their children; mothers nurse them and create the relationship of dependence that makes love hard to avoid. You have already earned the role of father more than once with a child not your own; I find it hard to believe that you would do any worse with your own flesh and blood.

  For your sake and ours, I hope Arthur will soon decide his duty to his father-in-law is fulfilled.

  Your Yseult

  Cador to Yseult, greetings.

  While I would much rather be with you and Riona, I am nonetheless glad to be corresponding with you again, to have news from you every few weeks and know you are well. It is a great comfort to me while we engage in skirmish after skirmish with Chlodovech, deciding nothing. The Frankish king is as clever a commander as Arthur. Neither one can provoke the other into an unwise attack; neither can lure the other into a position of weakness because both recognize the situation before it is too late. And thus we attack and retreat, attack and retreat, and in between there are negotiations which lead nowhere, because Arthur and Chlodovech do not trust each other. The only thing Arthur would trust would be if we could push the Frankish king back to the river Sequana in the east or the Liger in the south, or if we could gain a victory decisive enough to weaken him and thwart his ambitions to take Armorica in addition to all the other former Gaulish provinces he has conquered.