Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur (11 page)

Brigid shook her head. "This god doesn't share. Has Patraic told Lóegaire that yet?"

"I doubt if the Ard Ri cares," Gamal said. "The talk at Tara is that the law he obeys is the law which suits him best. There are even rumors that Brehon law is to be reviewed to integrate Christian law, and Patraic will be in charge."

"But what of the druids of Tara?" Dubtach asked, the Brehon of Druim Dara.

"Erc is well on the way to becoming a Christian himself, and Lochru's health is failing. Lucat can do little alone."

Once again, the queen saw her vision of the burning Ogham staffs. Now, in the shadows of the fire, the tall figures of the Feadh Ree turned away, seeking the Sidhe hills.

"But how can Lóegaire think to change Brehon law?" Dubtach persisted. "Law is made by filid, not kings."

Gamal shrugged. "He is High King and he is heartsore."

"We fear Patraic has convinced Lóegaire that he need not acknowledge the dissolution of your marriage," Crimthann added, addressing the queen. "And he will lead a war band to Druim Dara to demand the return of his wife."

"Here?" Brigid protested. "This is a sacred site."

"Nonetheless, you have earthwork ramparts protecting the dwellings," Crimthann pointed out.

Brigid sighed. "But not enough to withstand an attack by a war band of the Ard Ri."

Crimthann shook his head and turned back to Queen Yseult. "No. If you would permit me to say so, Lady, it is too dangerous for you here. We offer our services to accompany you to Dun Ailinne, where you can join your brother. It is the greatest fortified settlement of the Laigin, and my father Enna Cennsalach would be happy to receive you."

Yseult the Wise didn't doubt Enna Cennsalach would be happy to have her at Dun Ailinne. The Tuatha Dé Danann were retreating to the hills, but she was yet the kingmaker. "To make it obvious I support the kingship of the Laigin now?" she asked with a slight smile.

The prince gave her that direct look of his, the intense blue of his eyes intimate. "There is that, of course. You will always be more than any other queen of Eriu."

The queen looked away. She could see the ambition in him, the way that ambition was tied up with his trip here, to Druim Dara and her, but the glow in his blue eyes was more than just ambition.

No, she had no intention of making Enna Cennsalach king. She thought of Mebd's legendary requirements for a husband and a consort, "without jealousy, without fear, and without niggardliness." This time she would choose with that advice in mind and not for Eriu.

For herself.

"We will accompany you to Dun Ailinne," Queen Yseult said.

Her daughter rose. "If we continue to run away from Lóegaire, we are behaving no differently than Nemain or the others who are retreating into the Sidhe — no differently than those of the Feadh Ree you have criticized."

The round-house was silent, all eyes fixed on the princess. Yseult the Wise stared at her daughter in surprise. "What do you suggest?" she asked carefully.

"That some of us go to Tara and discover what of this is true — and try to do something about it."

"You make it sound very simple," Brigid said.

"Perhaps it is not as hard as it might seem at first." Yseult began walking the perimeters of the round-house, her hands behind her back. "You have a strong power of changing, have you not, Brigid?"

The wise woman nodded.

"And I have a strong power of calling. If we were to go to Tara with a band of Crimthann's warriors, small enough not to attract attention, I could call one of Lóegaire's advisors to us, and you could use your powers of illusion to find out what we need to know."

The queen clasped her hands tightly in her lap. "It would be very dangerous for you to go to Tara now."

"I don't want to run anymore," Yseult said simply.

"What if Lóegaire is on his way here?"

The princess grinned. "We won't be here when he arrives. Besides, if Lóegaire is calling a council, he hasn't left with his war band yet. And Brigid can use her power of changing to mask us in case of danger."

Brigid nodded slowly, obviously intrigued by the idea. "And then you can send dreams to Patraic and Lóegaire."

"I have not practiced much, but I can try."

"Yes, that might work," Dubtach said thoughtfully. "I too have some talent for changing, and I am Brehon. I could come along in case my help is needed."

The queen didn't like the idea of Yseult returning to the territory of the Ui Neill at all, but at the same time, she had to admire her daughter's bravery and initiative. She looked at Crimthann, a look he understood immediately.

"I will accompany the expedition to Tara," Crimthann said. "Gamal, I would like you to take the queen to Dun Ailinne. We need not run more risks than necessary."

* * * *

This time, the sounds of leaving, the clank of bridles and the barking of dogs, were a promise rather than a threat. Yseult the Fair had learned much from the acolytes of Danu; how better to control her gift for calling and guard her thoughts from those with a gift for knowing, had learned more herbal remedies and new songs for the harp — although even here among so much knowledge and talent, no one had been able to teach her to sing decently, with her raspy voice. But her time at Druim Dara had been a time of waiting, a part of the running, something in-between, like the threshold to the Otherworld. To go north now meant taking her life into her own hands, taking some responsibility for the lives of her people. When she returned south, she would go to yet another new "home," still in-between, but no longer running. She would ask her uncle Murchad if she could join one of the war bands harrying the borders of the Ui Neill. Healers who could also fight were always needed, and thanks to Murchad and her mother, she could do both.

She threw her saddlebags over Duchann Bhan's rump and turned to give her mother a kiss.

"Don't worry, we'll return. I see no difficulties for us."

"One cannot see everything," the queen said simply, a sheen of tears in her eyes.

"Give my love to Murchad."

"I will."

"And I will look after Crimthann for you."

Her mother chuckled, looking embarrassed and young with new love. Relieved, Yseult mounted her mare and turned to join the other riders. It was better to part with a laugh than a frown.

They rode all day through Laigin territory. Just before they reached the border to Midhe, where the territory of the Ui Neill began, they made camp well away from the road. After a few hours of sleep, they continued on their way to Tara, finishing their journey in the woods south of the Hill of Kings just before dawn.

Yseult wasn't sure how far away she could be for her call to reach another. If her first attempt didn't work, they would have to move closer to Tara, increasing the risk. Hiding her worry, she dismounted and tied Duchann Bhan's reins to a low branch of one of the trees. Gathering herself, she concentrated on an image of the wise man Patraic, sought his mind among the slowly waking inhabitants of Tara, and called him to their clearing.

After she had sent out her call, she, Brigid, Crimthann and Dubtach exchanged their riding breeches for white robes such as druids and Christians wore, pulled on their capes again, and made their way alone to one of the groves nearer the rath. It was not far from the other warriors, and all four were armed, short swords hidden beneath the folds of their tunics. But if they were caught, it would be imprisonment or even death for Crimthann, and little better than slavery across the sea for the rest of them.

Yseult breathed in the crisp, cold air, noting the drops of dew on the budding leaves and the way the morning sun glanced off the bronze of Crimthann's hair. Dangerous or not, she was glad to be here. Running and hiding were not for her.

When they reached the grove, Brigid used her power of changing to cloak them in illusion. Anyone they met would see a party of Christian pilgrims on their way north to the Hill of Slane to visit the site where the great Patraic had lit the holy fire of Easter. Brigid would do the talking; the illusion would work strongest for her since she was the one casting the spell. Yseult and Crimthann would assist the illusion by keeping their hoods up.

They had just spread out their blankets on the ground and begun to break their fast on bread and cheese when Patraic entered the grove, looking confused.

He nodded to them. "Good morning, pilgrims."

Brigid rose. "Master, we heard there is a Christian school founded by the wise man Patraic near Tara. Can you tell us if this is true or where we might find it?"

The bewilderment left Patraic's face to be replaced by gratification. "There is such a place. My disciple Ciaran is instructing those interested in Christian ways at a farm a little north of Rath na Riogh."

Yseult remembered Ciaran, his tears at Eithne's death and the gentle but resolute way he had about him. He would make a good teacher.

"Are you the great Patraic himself?" Brigid asked, her voice pitched low and her eyes wide.

Patraic gazed at her attractive face, lifted to his admiringly, and stood a little straighter. The illusion was working: he obviously did not recognize her. "We of the Christian faith do not aspire to such things as greatness," he admonished her gently, pleased nonetheless at her words. Yseult hid her smile in the hood of her cape. It appeared Roman-Bretain Christians were as easy to manipulate with flattery as Gaels.

"Will you also be teaching at the school?" Brigid asked.

"Occasionally perhaps, but I must devote most of my time to the High King."

"Does he intend to convert to the Christian faith?" she asked, adding just the right amount of surprise to the awe in her voice.

Patraic shook his head. "He says not, but I have hopes he may change his mind yet. I am consulting with him on a codification of Brehon law. With the number of Christians in Eriu growing, he wants to bring Christian and Brehon law in accordance with each other."

So it was true. Brehon law was to be Christianized.

"How will you do that?" the ban file asked.

"I don't yet know," Patraic said. "The druids of Tara insist that only the Brehon have the right to make the law."

Brigid nodded. "True."

Patraic glanced at her sharply. "Do you agree?"

She shrugged. "I grew up with a druid. Did you not also, Master?"

"Yes."

"Then you must recognize that the druids of Tara speak truth as they know it."

The Christian wise man nodded thoughtfully.

"Law cannot be decreed from without," Brigid continued. "It must be changed from within."

"Wise words, daughter," Patraic said, staring at her, his eyes bright. She gazed back steadily, and he looked away with a start. "Your journey is nearly at an end, my pilgrims. The school of Ciaran is less than two hours' walk from here. Go with God." He nodded to them almost curtly and hurried out of the grove.

Crimthann was the first to speak. "We should have killed him, here."

Brigid shook her head. "The church of Rome would only send another. And you would have made him a martyr to his religion."

Yseult got up from the woven blanket where they had been breaking their fast and brushed the crumbs of bread from her robe. "What are we to do?"

"Follow the plan we discussed in Druim Dara," Brigid said simply.

Part of her wished things were as easy as Crimthann seemed to think, but she knew Brigid was right: a war of ideas could not be won with murder. "Tonight I will send him a dream of a druid advisor to teach him something of Brehon law."

Brigid nodded, smiling. "Yes. The wise man Patraic understands the importance of appealing to people in a way they understand."

Yseult thought of the fire he had lit before Beltaine a year ago. "The magic of words, the power of fire."

Dubtach spoke up. "Tomorrow I will go to Tara as an answer to the dream. Can you do without my services for a time, ban file?"

Brigid smiled. "But you
will
be in my service, Dubtach."

"And what of Lóegaire?" Crimthann asked, his normally generous mouth little more than a thin line. It was obvious that his preferred course of action would be to burn Tara to the ground. His foster-father Dunlaing had attempted the feat but only gotten as far as the sloping trenches and thirty princesses and their attendants.