"Oh yes, a bed would be welcome now," she said. "Tomorrow is early enough to tell what I learned in Celliwig."
"Of course it is," Cador assured her.
They returned to the hall, where Brangwyn had prepared a bath in Cador's bedchamber. Yseult stripped and stepped into the hot water, sinking down to her shoulders with a sigh. "Ah, what a relief. My little mare did not have the most gentle gait of those I have ridden."
Cador smiled obediently. Obviously she was trying to ease the inevitable awkwardness of their reunion with a little light-hearted banter. He'd been anticipating this day for months, for years, but now that is was here, he was tired and afraid — and missing half a hand.
Definitely not as he'd imagined.
"By the way," she said, soaping her arms. "We owe Taliesin a sack of gold."
"Who?"
"The young bard Taliesin. He obtained the horse for me that I used to escape."
"Then I will be happy to give him as many sacks of gold as he requires."
She smiled, and then her expression grew serious. "You still have not seen our daughter, have you?"
He shook his head. "She is safe in Dyn Draithou with my mother. I hope."
She looked down briefly at the soapy water and then straight into his eyes. "She is yours, you know. I swear it by all the gods of my tribe. I realize that my history does not vouch for my fidelity, but I never swore such a thing to Marcus. I am honest in my way — and I am honest with you."
Cador took a deep breath. She had hit a weak spot he'd been trying to ignore. Kustennin was a toddler before Cador had found out who the boy's real father was, but he had never blamed Yseult for her infidelity to the man she'd been forced to marry. Nonetheless, the knowledge worried the edge of his consciousness — Kustennin was not his ostensible father's son. Why should Yseult's daughter be any different than her son?
But what mattered was that he wanted to believe her. That would have to be the precept by which he would run his life.
"Could you hand me the towel, please?" Yseult asked, her voice subdued, and he realized he hadn't responded to her oath.
He gave her the towel. "Yseult —"
"I wish there were a way to safely bring Riona here," she said, cutting off whatever he might have said. "Who knows what the battle between Arthur and Medraut will bring."
She began to wipe the water off her wet skin. He watched, grateful for the sight. "I will do my best to survive the coming battles. I have the feeling I will still see Riona before I die."
"And I am less worried than I should be, so perhaps you are right." She gathered the towel in one fist and took his injured hand in the other, inspecting it. "How bad is it?"
"I lost three fingers."
"Ah, Cador." She raised his hand to her lips and kissed the unbandaged knuckle of his thumb. "Better than the whole hand."
He drew in a deep breath, surprised at the effect of such a simple kiss. "And better left than right."
She looked into his eyes. "I hope you can forgive me for running away as I did."
Cador stroked her hair with his good hand. "I fear I have no choice. Besides, I too must ask your forgiveness for sending you away. I was irrationally jealous."
Yseult chuckled. "Queen Medb would no longer have you for sure."
He cocked one eyebrow in a question, unsure what to make of her strange mood.
"Queen Medb of the old legends of Eriu," she explained. "It was said she had three requirements in a man: to be without fear, without meanness, and without jealousy."
"She had only negative requirements?"
"Oh, I'm sure she had some positive requirements as well. She slept with most of the heroes of her day."
Cador smiled. "Then a lack of jealousy truly was an important requirement."
"Very true."
They were standing close, and he was becoming increasingly aware that the only thing between them were her towel and his clothes. "I promise to repress my jealousy in future if you will consider joining a cripple in his bed."
"Your right hand still works, does it not?" she asked suggestively.
He barked out a surprised laugh and then leaned forward to give her a long kiss. "I think we need to try it out."
Chapter 30
In all the wide, dead, old world of story, there is … no wraith more piteously pursuant than the wraith of Guenever. No other voice has in it the ring of sweet harmonies so intricately bejangled; no other face turns to us eyes of such luminous entreaty from slow descents of despair; no other figure, majestic though in ruins, carries through every strained muscle and tense nerve and full artery so magnetic a consciousness of the deeps of its deserved humiliation the height of its lost privilege.
We shudder to discover in her, before she discovers it for or in herself, that, having given herself to Arthur, she yet has not given all; that there arises now another self, an existence hitherto unknown, unsuspected, a character groping, unstable, unable, a wandering wind, a mist of darkness, a chaos, over which Arthur has no empire, of which he has no comprehension, and of which she — whether of Nature or of training who shall judge — has long since discrowned herself the Queen.
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, "The True Story of Guenever"
Ginevra rocked Melou on her lap. She had just given him the infusion Yseult had prescribed, and he slept peacefully; nonetheless, Ginevra could hardly hold back her tears. She could not comprehend Yseult's betrayal in sneaking away — and without having completed Melou's treatment. Yes, he was doing better; yes, she had left instructions both with the cook and a local healer. But the fact that she had run, the fact that she had not said goodbye, that hurt Ginevra on a deeper level. She lifted her gaze from the baby's downy head to one of the wall hangings without really seeing it. She'd assured her friend that she was safe in Celliwig — and Yseult had not believed her.
And now Yseult was in Dyn Tagell, conspiring with Ginevra's former husband. Medraut's scouts informed her that a huge enemy army gathered there under the command of Arthur, preparing to ride against Celliwig. While Medraut was off somewhere and Ginevra could not even contact him.
She could only pray that Medraut would return in time to save them. She did not want to know what Arthur's revenge would look like.
"Lady Ginevra?"
Ginevra looked up with a smile when she heard the bard's voice. "Yes, Taliesin?"
He bowed in the charming way he had. "I merely came to bid you farewell."
She frowned. "You are leaving us already?"
"Lady, even your villagers are packing their things and seeking refuge with relatives elsewhere — assuming they have that option. Many are merely fleeing without a place to go."
"What? Why would they do that?"
"Because all know that the war Medraut started is coming home," he said quietly.
It was daring of him to say such a thing to her, Medraut's consort, but in its own way it was a greater sign of trust than Yseult had shown. Taliesin spoke his mind without fearing that she would have him arrested and locked away, and she would honor that.
"I am only a simple bard," Taliesin continued. "This is not my conflict, and I have no interest in being here when it becomes a battlefield."
"Where will you go?"
He shrugged. "Where there is no fighting. Perhaps I will go to Gwent and the monastery school of Illtud, perhaps I will continue on to Caer Leon. Things are quiet there now. By the way, did Yseult tell you that Aurelius found his mother's man-at-arms, Kevern? That he was able to identify the men responsible for Modrun's death?"
Ginevra stared at him, her stomach feeling empty and cold, and she shook her head.
Taliesin gave her a look very different from that of the charming and respectful bard he had seemed before. "But she must at least have told you that they found the beggar who claimed Cai was responsible for your son's death."
"No, she did not," Ginevra said shortly. He should just leave and stop taunting her.
Taliesin raised his eyebro
ws with an exaggerated look of surprise. He was treating her as if she were stupid, she could tell that much, and it made her angry and sad at the same time. She had thought the bard like her. "Ah, I thought for sure she would have. In the village all are saying you helped her escape because of it."
Ginevra stared at Taliesin, finding it hard to believe the transformation in him — and what it implied. "Why would I help her escape?"
"Beyond the fact that you claim to be her friend?" Taliesin asked in reply. "Well, there might be the business about the bribed beggar that is common knowledge in the village."
"What is it they know in the village that I do not?"
"Can you not think yourself what it might be, Lady? If not, you have only to go down into the valley and ask the first swineherd you meet. I am sure he will be better informed than you."
"I command you to tell me what they are saying!"
"Ah, but you do not want to know what they are saying."
"Tell me!"
"They are saying, Lady, that the man you now like to call husband is a murderer."
"No!"
"You see, you do not really want to know." He bowed again. "Farewell, Lady Ginevra. While I suspect you will never be happy, I am almost certain you will remain famous for centuries. And I for one will do my best to help you to the fame you deserve."
With those enigmatic words, he left the hall. Ginevra gazed after him, hating his lies, not believing it, the slanderous talk of envious minds — but unable to avoid turning his words over and over in her mind. No, she would not go to the village, would not ask around, would not think the worst of the father of her baby.
She rose and laid Melou in his bed, for a moment unable to touch him any longer.
* * * *
Ginevra's prayers were answered, and Medraut returned before Arthur's forces attacked. The only problem was, she no longer knew what to pray for, or whether to be grateful.
She was weaving woolen blankets and wall hangings with her women when the trumpets announcing her husband's arrival sounded. Ginevra continued with her work. She saw the way the other women looked at her, their expressions questioning, but none of them said a word.
The door was thrown open and Medraut entered the women's hall. He glanced around at Ginevra's women. "Leave us. I would like to speak with my wife alone."
They rose and curtsied, then scrambled out of the building, not bothering to finish their rows, their shuttles still stuck in the warp.
Ginevra stood and faced him. "Welcome home, Medraut. I prayed that you would arrive before Arthur attacked."
"Yseult escaped," he stated flatly, with no words of greeting of his own.
"Yes. She snuck out of Celliwig three nights past."
"Did you help her?"
Ginevra stared at him, tightening her hands in front her. "Why would I help her?"
"I know you regard her as a friend."
"I did not help her."
"She could not have escaped without assistance."
Ginevra shook her head. "Come Medraut, you know better than that."
He cut the air with an impatient gesture. "Yes, I know she could have gotten out of the hill-fort using her powers. But Dyn Tagell is over a dozen miles away. How could she have made such a journey at night without help?"
Ginevra felt anger closing like a fist in her chest, making breathing difficult. This was Medraut, the man she loved, the man for whom she had sacrificed her reputation, the man whose child she had borne — and he was not even listening to her side of the story. "For all I know, Yseult is dead in a ditch somewhere."
"No, she is not. The woman who would have been our bargaining tool against Arthur and his companions is in safety. I have to wonder at your audacity in claiming not to know that she is in Dyn Tagell."
Despite her recent anger, Ginevra found that she was relieved to learn Yseult was safe. Slowly she was beginning to realize that she had treated her friend unfairly. Yseult had told her she was in danger in Celliwig, but Ginevra had not believed her — and now by referring to her as a bargaining tool, Medraut had just confirmed as much.
Ginevra nodded. "I have been told I am not very well informed."
Medraut stared at her; he obviously didn't understand her little joke on herself. Ginevra barely understood it herself. Recognizing her mistakes and laughing at herself was a new experience for her.
Suddenly he grabbed her shoulders and shook her so roughly that her neck seemed about to snap. Ginevra snatched at his wrists and tried to pull his hands away. "Medraut! Stop! That hurts!"
He shook her again, hard, and then dragged her face close to his. "What did Yseult tell you to make you help her?"
"Yseult told me nothing."
"Nothing? Then what has made you turn against me within a fortnight? Did she spew lies about some beggar, about a man in Modrun's service?"
She stared at him, wishing his words unsaid. It was exactly what Taliesin had told her.
He threw her away from him, and she landed on her back in the rushes. "Will you believe our enemies before me? Do you truly think me a murderer?"
Ginevra shook her head, tears starting in her eyes. "I have never thought such a thing!"
"Never? Not even after Yseult told you Kevern said I ordered Modrun's death? Not even after she claimed the beggar was paid by me to accuse Cai of the murder of Loholt? All lies I tell you!"
No, Medraut, no, say no more! How could you know all this if you are innocent?
"I have heard of the rumors in the village," Medraut continued. "If their talk was a tribunal, you would already be convicted."
Ginevra hid her face on her arms, crying into the rushes. As would you, my husband. As would you.
He gave her a swift kick with his booted foot. "Think about what I have said, woman."
With that last charming gesture, he turned on his heel, stomped away, and slammed the door behind him.
She lay on the floor, her side aching, but her heart and her mind aching even more. Think about it, he had said. She knew she would; she would not be able to avoid it. How much had they really been saying in the village? How much had Medraut heard there — and how much did he know because it was true?
Somehow, if Medraut allowed her to leave, she had to speak with the villagers, had to know if their stories were the same as his. He could have heard about the beggar, about the warrior in the village, that would explain it.
But if the stories were not the same, if Medraut had more details than the rumors contained ... that meant she was living with the murderer of her first son.
She hid her face in her hands while she sobbed.
* * * *
Cador's missing fingers ached in the damp weather. When Arthur and his companions rode out for Celliwig shortly after dawn, Dyn Tagell was encased in mist and a light rain was falling. It could be worse, Cador reflected; it could be pouring.
It was odd that something no longer there hurt so damnably.
After turning inland, they kept to high ground as much as possible. The army Arthur now led consisted of over six hundred horse, almost twice what Medraut commanded, according to their scouts. Even with superior numbers, being caught in a valley while the enemy was on a ridge above could mean major losses — especially in this weather, when it was hard enough to see very far down the road ahead. But Arthur was still hopeful that he would be able to take Celliwig before Medraut returned.
Cador found himself unusually eager for this confrontation, happy to be on the back of a warhorse again, with one good hand for a sword. For his shield, Yseult had attached an additional leather brace to give him more hold than he would have with only his two remaining fingers. But of course it was not the fighting itself that consumed him. Despite his reputation as a farmer and not a fighter, Cador would happily murder Medraut if he had the chance. Not only had Medraut held Cador captive and allowed his wound to fester, he had done his part to finally end the peace of Britain once and for all, had burned down Cador's villa and attacked Dyn
Tagell, and he would have murdered Yseult if she had not escaped.
It was enough to send even Cador eagerly into battle. They might not yet face Medraut, but they could substantially weaken him if they took Ginevra's seat.
When they arrived at the plain north of Celliwig, however, it was obvious Medraut had beat them there. It was not a weakened hill-fort awaiting them, it was one bursting with warriors, preparing for attack.
As Arthur's troops began setting up their tents, two messengers arrived, one from the north and one from the east. Cerdic had landed in Caer Tamar, one of the largest trading ports in southern Dumnonia, while yet another of Caw's sons, Kallas, had landed in Barum to the north. Cerdic had immediately laid siege to the town, but Kallas only seemed interested in fighting past the soldiers protecting the harbor; he might well already be on his way south.
Arthur paced the length of the large tent. Big as it was, there was hardly enough room to contain the Dux Bellorum's nervous energy. "When did you say the Pictish force landed?" he asked the messenger from the north.
"Yesterday, sometime before noon, Dux."
Arthur clapped the dark-haired warrior on the shoulder. "Good man. I hope your mount is well?"
"She's tired but fine. She has a big heart."
"She most certainly must."
"Why did this Kallas not land at the mouth of the Camel?" Bedwyr asked thoughtfully.
"I assume Medraut's allies are informed of the dangerous sand bar there; there is a reason it has never been a trading port," Arthur said, dismissing Bedwyr's misgivings. He turned to the messenger from the east. "And you say when you left Caer Tamar, Cerdic showed no signs of joining the battle here?"
The man shook his head. "He seemed intent on conquest, not coming to the aid of an ally."
Arthur stroked a jaw less clean-shaven than usual with his thumb. "We can only hope that Cerdic's understanding of the duties of an ally remains that way. We don't want to be trapped here between Picts and traitors."
"Or traitors and traitors," Bedwyr muttered — one of Arthur's companions who could remember the days when the sons of Caw were also counted among Arthur's allies.
Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) Page 49
