Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur (39 page)

They passed a new house of timber. "Good masons are harder and harder to find," he continued, shaking his head regretfully. "Look at the cracks in the columns! That house will soon have to be taken down too."

Yseult had not noticed the cracks in the columns, noticing instead the glass in many of the windows and the red tile roofs of the stone buildings still standing. But she kept her thoughts to herself, as usual. He generally ignored what she said anyway.

Ambrosius's house in Verulamium was in the middle of town near the "forum" — one of the many terms Yseult had learned in her Latin lessons with Drystan when he was still Tandrys. Then, she had no true concept of what the word meant; now "forum" became a wide, walled, white-washed square, full of people, with tall, straight buildings on all sides, and a phallic monument in the center like the Stone of Destiny in Tara, only impossibly tall and ornate. The buildings were of wood and stone, with columns and gates and doors and windows, but all were tall and square, none round.

On their journey, though, they had also seen small communities of round-houses with thatched roofs — small by the standards of Britain, at least. A collection of round-houses which would have been a seat of kings in Eriu was nothing here in Alba.

Marcus had arranged to hire a house in Verulamium for his party — paying coin for the right to stay, and receiving no goods in return. Yseult still had much to learn about how things functioned in this strange land. In Eriu, no one paid for lodging — travelers were guests, and those who were not entitled to hospitality by birth helped in the work of the rath during their stay. When a king invited other kings to his seat, he was responsible for their lodging.

But Yseult soon discovered that it was not a matter of Ambrosius being unwilling to show hospitality to his guests: the house of the High King in Verulamium was so large, she could have easily gotten lost in it. By taking his own house, Marcus sent a message that he had his own base of power. And he wasn't the only one.

Yseult watched and learned.

The evening of their arrival, they were invited to dine with the High King and the other regional kings who had already arrived in Verulamium. They hired chairs to take them through streets between houses of stone and wood where no trees grew, and grass appeared only in the slits between the cobblestones, like an intruder.

The courtyard of Ambrosius's residence in Verulamium seemed almost as large as the forum to Yseult's amazed eyes. Here were the trees and plants she had missed, hidden away behind high walls.

They walked through the courtyard to a banqueting hall at the back of the house. As Marcus led her in to dinner, she caught the quality of a mind that made her turn and stare. Sitting near the head of the table was an old man who reminded her of Boinda, his intense gaze fixed on her.

"Who is the man next to Ambrosius?" she asked.

"That is his advisor Myrddin. Some call him wise man, some magician." Marcus gave a disbelieving snort.

Yseult returned Myrddin's gaze. Sometime during the course of the evening, she would have to speak with him.

The amounts served at the dinner were not as generous as Yseult was used to from the feasts of Tara and Dun Ailinne, but the number of dishes was astounding, from delicate egg creations mixed with everything from fish to fruit, to poultry stuffed with a spicy mixture of ground meat and oats, to sweets made of fruit and honey and nuts.

Yseult met so many kings and nobles that night, the names went past her in a kind of dream: the grandsons of the former High King Vortigern, Britu, king of Powys, and Pasgen, king of Buellt; King Gwythr of Celliwig and his daughter Ginevra; Cerdic, the general of the south and his Saxon wife, Cynewyn; and Arthur's most trusted companions, Bedwyr and Cai.

When she met King Caw and his young wife Labiane, the hatred of the younger woman's thoughts made her temporarily stop and stare. It wasn't hard to discover the reason before she closed her mind to Drystan's cousin — her husband's former lover. Drystan's other cousin, Cador, was now king at Dyn Draithou, although he hardly looked old enough to lead a war band. Here in the land of the Bretain, heredity counted for more than experience and ability. She had to wonder at a system that would allow a boy without battle experience to become king. But the thoughts she caught from his mind seemed fair and just; perhaps he would make a good leader yet.

She was seated opposite the bishop of Verulamium and next to Arthur's half-sister Anna. Yseult kept her mind closed as she was wont to do when among so many people, but she could feel another mind probing hers at times, a mind of a different quality than that of Myrddin's. She looked around the table and found a woman with long, dark hair tied back in a heavy braid examining her closely.

Yseult attempted to concentrate on Anna's chatter. She was complaining about having to give up her son into fosterage with the High King, of all things, and Yseult could summon up little patience for her. "I'm sure your son will be well cared-for in the household of Ambrosius," Yseult said in answer to Anna's complaints. "I have not been here long, but from all I have heard, he is a just man and excellent king."

"But what if Ambrosius goes off to fight in Gaul? Medraut would be in the hands of the bastard and the witch."

Yseult blinked. She might not have developed a very high opinion of Anna's sense, but such harsh words at a formal dinner seemed extremely petty, to say the least. "I'm sorry, I don't know who you're referring to."

"The Gaulish kings are in need of support against the heathens," the Bishop of Verulamium threw in, speaking to Anna and ignoring Yseult. Deliberately. She was one of the heathens, after all.

Anna bowed her head. "Yes, but the concerns of a mother are not always rational."

After the dinner was over, the company rose from their seats and retired to an adjoining room filled with wide couches covered with pillows and short tables covered with fruit and wine. Given freedom of movement again, Yseult sought out the wise man Myrddin. As she neared, a glass of wine in hand, he smiled, inclining his gray head. A stark contrast to many in Ambrosius's court, Myrddin wore his hair long, in half-a-dozen braids well past his shoulders. "I have been waiting for you, Queen Yseult. It is a pleasure to meet such a talented young woman."

Yseult repressed the flash of irritation she always felt at being called "Queen Yseult": "Queen Yseult" was her mother. But in this strange land,
she
was the only Queen Yseult.

She smiled at Myrddin, suspecting he was now well aware of how uncomfortable she was with the title. "And I have been looking forward to meeting the adviser to the king, whose wisdom is famed throughout the isle of Alba."

The man she could not help but think of as fili of the High King chuckled. "You are well-versed in the famous Erainn art of flattery, I see."

Yseult took a sip of wine and looked him straight in the eye. His eyes were a color rare on her native island, a deep, dark brown, like earth turned over in spring, rich and moist. "Tell me, how comes it that one of your talents is able to endure in a land without magic?"

Myrddin threw back his head and laughed out loud. "Yseult, you are wise, but you are young. You err if you think there is no magic here in Britain."

Together, they found a couch in a corner and sat down. "I have noticed none until tonight," Yseult said.

Myrddin shook his head. "A world without magic is impossible. Magic is what people believe in, and they will always believe in something."

Yseult smiled. "Wise words from a wise man. But yours was not the only magic I was aware of this evening."

"Yes, I saw Modrun watching you."

So that was who the woman was. "I know little still about my new home."

"She is the daughter of the High King, his only surviving child. She is married to King Honorius of Gower."

The daughter of the High King had the blood of the old ones in her veins? She turned to find the figure of the dark-haired woman — in conversation with Drystan. She was sitting on one of the low couches and he was leaning into her, listening avidly to something she had to say, a slight smile gracing his handsome features. The muscles in her stomach clenched and she turned back to Myrddin.

Taking pity on her, Myrddin continued. "Ambrosius was married to my half-sister. Modrun is my niece."

Yseult nodded, trying to concentrate on the conversation. "At dinner this evening, Anna referred to 'the bastard and the witch.' I take it the witch is your niece?"

Myrddin pursed his lips. "It is good Anna lives across the ocean in Armorica, although the wilds of the north would be even better."

She gave a slight smile, still seeing Drystan leaning over the one woman she had met in this land until now who drew her. She took a piece of dried apple from a bowl and nibbled on it. "Anna did not strike me as particularly pleasant."

"She is a spiteful woman."

Before Yseult could delve deeper, they were interrupted. Ambrosius was clapping his hands to get the attention of the assembled guests. Arthur stood beside him, plainly embarrassed.

Ambrosius laid a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Before we begin the Whitsun festivities, I have an announcement to make. In the event that I should go to Gaul to assist the Empire against the Visigoths, I am appointing Artus my deputy here in Britain."

"Daring," Myrddin whispered for only her to hear.

"Why?"

"Because, as his sister so kindly pointed out, Arthur is a 'bastard.' Ambrosius's dearest wish is that Arthur succeed him as High King, but his illegitimate birth complicates things."

Yseult nodded and turned her attention back to Ambrosius. "As you are all aware," the High King said now, "his victories across the breadth of our fair island, both as general in the north and as Dux Bellorum in the south, have made it possible for you to travel safely again."

"Your victories too, Uncle," Arthur said. "And don't forget the treaties forged by Cerdic and Marcus."

Clever man
. While Yseult was well aware of what the treaty with her own island was worth, it was a good move on Arthur's part to give others credit for the present peace besides himself.

Ambrosius acknowledged the contributions of the leaders in the south with a nod and turned back to his nephew. "But the treaties would not have been possible without your brilliance in battle." The High King took a heavy chain with a glinting pendant from the pocket belted at his tunic and laid it around Arthur's neck. "I had a pendant made for you as sign of your office. I know you will wear it with honor."

Arthur blinked rapidly, obviously moved. Clapping came from the company witnessing the scene, and Yseult opened her mind to judge the reactions. Dominant among them was envy, although there was also unadulterated joy.

Myrddin was watching her closely. "The human animal is a selfish, unrepentant beast, is it not?"

She sighed. "Oh, yes."

Yseult gazed at the reluctant hero, precarious chosen heir to the High Kingship of Britain — but her thoughts were on her husband and his son. She knew without listening that Marcus was one of the envious minds. And Drystan was one of those who felt only joy.

How could she be married to one and denying the other?

She felt Myrddin's arm go through hers, giving her strength, and she smiled at him. For the first time, she felt welcomed in this strange land.

He returned the smile. "You are."

* * * *

Drystan didn't know how much longer he would be able to take seeing Yseult constantly and pretending she meant nothing to him. Every night he laid awake, his guts burning, imagining her with his father. It felt as if someone was turning a hot, blunt knife in his belly. Every day, he watched them together, and although he saw well enough that she had no endearments for her husband, the possessive pride in his father's eyes when they rested on Yseult made him want to take the old man by the throat and shake or pound or kick that arrogance, that totally undeserved arrogance, out of him. No one owned Yseult the Fair, no one.

The council of the kings of Britain was scheduled for their fourth day in Verulamium. Ambrosius requested the appearance of the dux and comes in charge of defenses as well as the main regional kings, including Marcus.

"There are to be acrobats and bear fights in the forum, Drustanus," Marcus said as he draped a light summer cape over his shoulders. "Perhaps you should take Yseult and Brangwyn to see them."

Drystan leaned on the head of a small bronze statue near the portico entrance. "I will ask them if they're interested."