Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur (50 page)

"We must return to Caer Leon and muster our troops as soon as possible."

Cai shot out of his chair. "You cannot think to go to Gaul!"

"Ambrosius left you as his deputy here, Arthur," Bedwyr added. "Think — would he want you to come to his aid?"

There was a stubborn slant to Arthur's mouth, but Drystan could see the war of loyalties in him.

Arthur turned back to Ruan. "How bad were the casualties?"

"The word we had was that it was a rout, General. They were surprised by Euric's forces while waiting for the Roman army to join them."

"But Ambrosius did not fall?"

Ruan shook his head. "He himself sent the messenger to Caer Leon, during their retreat. He still had hopes of meeting up with the Roman forces."

"We should wait for word from Ambrosius," Drystan put in. "If we go to Gaul with the legions you only began to put together last year, Britain is defenseless."

Arthur was silent, still fighting with himself.

"On the other hand, if you take only your mobile units, we regional kings could arrange for our own defense," Marcus suggested.

The Dux Bellorum stared at Marcus, his head cocked to one side, and Drystan barely avoided heaving a sigh of relief. He would not have to speak to his cousin after all; his father's words had made him see reason, made him realize he had to stay. "No, I think your son is right. I spoke in haste, without thinking," Arthur said. "A decision of this magnitude would require a meeting of the council."

Arthur turned to Cai and Bedwyr. "Nonetheless, we should return to Caer Leon. We will need to send out messengers and apprize the other kings of Britain of this development."

Apparently as relieved as Drystan was himself, Arthur's most trusted companions nodded, smiling.

* * * *

Yseult had temporarily fled the busy hall of Dyn Tagell to tend her garden. Preparations were underway for Arthur's return to Caer Leon — and Yseult was anxious for news from Eriu. The weather was extremely fine, warm without being hot, the breeze surprisingly gentle for the coast, and she hummed to herself as she pulled out the dandelions and put them in a basket at her side. Later, she would separate the roots from the leaves and dry them, and from the fresh flowers she would make a tonic. It was good to be digging in the dirt, watching the cowslip and borage and marigold plants she had obtained from Illtud take root and grow, knowing she would be able to do good with them later, ease a soldier's indigestion or reduce the swelling from a bee sting of one of the village children.

She had set up her herb garden on a southern slope of the island near the central well and to the west of the soldiers' lodgings. It was not as protected from the wind here, but the plants got sun nearly all day long, and she didn't have far to go if she needed to fetch water.

Kustennin slept in a basket near the lovage patch, one of the few things which hadn't died during their long absence; it had even begun to sprout again before they returned to Dyn Tagell. By comparison, the annual plants that she had obtained as seedlings from Illtud were still small. She would have to ask someone to look after them while she was away in Eriu visiting her mother. It was strange how she was simultaneously fearful and elated at the thought. Perhaps it was simply because her home seemed so far away now, unimaginably far. Or perhaps she was mixing her feelings for the trip she was planning with her fear for Ambrosius and his forces.

A rout, the messenger Ruan had said. How many of the soldiers who had died were men she had met, talked to, here or in Verulamium? Ambrosius had taken thousands with him. Yseult couldn't get her mind around it. She had grown up with death, but death in terms of ones and twos and dozens, not thousands. A major battle in Eriu might involve hundreds, no more. It was hard for her to conceive of how so many people could die at once — so many she couldn't even imagine all of them together at one time. She remembered the sea of tents at Verulamium and wondered how many of those tents were ever coming home to Britain.

Thousands.

She leaned back on her heels and rotated her neck on her shoulders. The sun was warm on her back, with no walls and no trees to block it. One of the things she liked about Dyn Tagell was how open it was, to the wind, to anyone passing by who cared to see, not blocked in by walls of stone on all sides like Verulamium. Dyn Tagell needed no such defenses: its setting was all the defense it needed.

A bell sounded, and she glanced westward at the wide ocean. A ship had appeared on the horizon, deep-bodied, small, and fast.

Erainn.

Yseult rose, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Perhaps whoever it was carried word from her mother.

She picked up the Kustennin's basket and hurried to the path that led down to the beach, a smile on her lips. As much as she was growing strangely attached to her new home, it
would
be good to see Eriu again, her mother, Brigid, Crimthann, see her dogs and Dun Ailinne.

By the time she reached the beach, a landing boat was already being lowered from the side of the Erainn ship. Behind her, two British soldiers were making their way down the path she had just taken. She smiled to herself and shaded her eyes to see the landing boat better.

She gave a brief shake of her head; the man at the prow looked like Gamal.

But why should that surprise her? He was a member of the Fianna of the Laigin, after all.

She set Kustennin's basket down on the sand and moved forward to meet her former lover.

"Gamal!" she cried out as he jumped over the side of the boat and sloughed through the shallow waves. "So my mother has already received my message?"

He nodded.

"What news? When will I be able to visit to her?"

"Very soon. I have come to fetch you."

Yseult started. Wouldn't her mother send her word first so she could prepare her journey? Perhaps the queen had fallen ill again and needed her there.

"Is all well at Dun Ailinne?" she asked, probing his mind, only to find a wall.

"It was when I left."

Gamal waded the rest of the way out of the surf, and Yseult took his hands, smiling.

He returned the smile.

And then he shook off her hands, grabbed her around the waist, and flung her over his shoulder.

For several precious seconds, Yseult was so stunned that she didn't react. His gloating burst in upon her mind like a putrid wound. She began to scream and kick and pound his back as he waded back out to the landing boat. At the noise, Kustennin woke up and began to cry.

"Kustennin!"

Gamal dumped her unceremoniously in the boat, and Yseult pulled herself up to see the two soldiers running across the sand while Kustennin wailed. The guards plunged into the surf after them, but the boat was pulling away rapidly with six men at the oars.

"Kustennin!"

The basket on the sand became smaller and smaller, and the wails quieter. One of the two soldiers had dived into the water and began to swim after them, but Gamal took a spear from the bottom of the boat and aimed.

"No!"

Red blood colored the water and was swept away, and Yseult began to sob.

"Kustennin."

Chapter 22

Let the lofty bark be Ireland,

Lofty Ireland, darkly sung,

An incantation of great cunning:

The great cunning of the wives of Bres,

The wives of Bres, of Buaigne;

The great lady, Ireland,

Eremon hath conquered her,

I, Eber, have invoked for her.

I invoke the land of Ireland!

"Aimirgin's Invocation"

Her breasts ached.

Yseult squeezed her left breast again with both hands, and the milk squirted out onto the cloth she had laid across her lap. She couldn't seem to get rid of it at a rate to make up for what her son would normally drink. The searing pain was worse even than what Gamal had done to her; not only was it a constant ache, heavy, tight, it was a constant reminder that she had left her son crying in a basket on the beach.

She wiped the milk off of her nipple, glad that the ship at least had a small enclosed area on deck. There was something about milking herself like a goat or a cow that made her thankful she didn't have to share it with Gamal's crew.

At least she knew Drystan would come after her. Not Marcus, no — he always let others do the fighting for him, and then wondered why his bastard nephew-by-marriage had a reputation as a better warrior than he. But Drystan would follow, she knew that — despite what she had said to him at Dyn Tagell. He was more true to her than she deserved.

But would he be able to catch up with Gamal's ship?

Tonight when she could see the stars, she would use her power of calling. If Drystan could hear her call and follow it, he would find her.

* * * *

The pain told him the way. He saw the stars the way she did, the way she intended him to see them, Leo ahead and a little to the left, Perseus on the horizon to the right. But it was the pain that dragged him forward, that forced him to push his crew harder, to drop the sails and row when the wind was against them. It was no surprise that they were heading north and west; he only hoped her pain or her vision would tell him when to head for land.

Brangwyn joined him at the railing, a whimpering bundle held tight beneath her cloak. "He doesn't much care for goat's milk squeezed out from a cloth."

Drystan clenched the smooth wood in front of him. "Can you blame him?"

It was late, but it seemed no one was asleep yet, and at the sound of their voices, Kurvenal and Cador wandered over.

"We need to catch them, Drys," Cador said, his voice low and intense. "Yseult — your brother — " He shook his head, not completing what he wanted to say, or perhaps not even knowing it.

"Yes," Drystan said, to say something. Ah, the pain. But at least the pain told him she couldn't be too far away.

He closed his eyes for a moment, tried to find his way back to these people who were helping find her. His cousin Cador, such a surprise to him these last few days; barely a man, the hair on his chin only starting to grow, and totally taken with Kustennin. When Brangwyn's arms ached from carrying the hungry babe, trying to quiet him, Cador would take him on his shoulder, a smile on his face even when the little one bawled. Perhaps his fondness for Kustennin was because his own childhood had been cut short by war and his father's death.

They were good people who all loved Yseult in their own way. Drystan grimaced to himself — except perhaps for Kurvenal. But together they would find her. He turned his face back to the stars and allowed her pain to lead him.

At next light, the lookout spotted a ship ahead of them on the horizon. Drystan knew it was the ship in which Yseult was held — the pain was so great now, it could be no other.

He wished he had more men trained for sea battles. He didn't know how experienced the warriors were who had kidnaped Yseult.

But on his ship they had magic.

He found Brangwyn watching over a blessedly sleeping Kustennin in the deck house. She looked up, hope lighting up her eyes.

"The lookout caught a glimpse of a ship ahead of us," Drystan said, closing the door softly behind him. "Is there any way you can help us with your power of changing?"

She gazed at him, her expression steady and serious. "You want me to create an illusion so that they will not know rescue is at hand."

He nodded.

Brangwyn rose, her hands behind her back. "I have never tried to cloak anything so great as this ship, but I know it is possible. My relatives who have retreated to the sidhe use their powers now to hide their dwellings from the Gael."

"Then you will try?"

She graced him with her quiet smile. "Of course. But you must deal with the questions your men may ask."

He returned the smile and echoed her words. "Of course."

When he came out of the deck house, a strange morning mist had already begun to rise from the waters around them.