Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur (51 page)

"Stay on course!" he bellowed at his confused crew. "They were straight ahead of us when the weather began to turn!"

Drystan fired his crew forward, although they were sailing blind. When the mist finally started to burn off, the Erainn ship was no more than a few dozen paces away.

He wished Brangwyn could have held the illusion longer; through strands of what was left of her spell, he could see warriors on the Erainn ship drawing their weapons to prepare for battle. On the other hand, if the mist were still surrounding them, his men would not be able to navigate their ship alongside that of the kidnappers.

"Man the grappling hooks! We'll come up on the windward side and board!"

At least some element of surprise seemed to be theirs —instead of preparing for battle, many of the enemy warriors stood gawking as Drystan's warship emerged next to them from the mists.

"Pull her aside and throw down the gangplanks!"

Drystan and his men swarmed onto the other ship. He had to fight the urge to search for Yseult — he needed all of his concentration for the men who blocked their path. He took out a warrior who had not yet drawn his sword and parried the attack of one who had. Beside him, Cador fought like a demon; strange as it might seem, his young cousin was almost seventeen now, a man blooded and king of Dyn Draithou.

Together, they pushed forward, mad with the battle and a personal hatred. Drystan realized that he
wanted
these men to suffer, wanted to pay them back for the pain he had been feeling on the voyage, Yseult's pain.

Then on the opposite side of the deck, he recognized Gamal, and the hatred became more personal. So that was why Yseult had been taken — there was nothing political about it at all.

"There, that one — he's the leader!" Drystan yelled to Cador over the ringing steel and the screams of battle. "He's the one we have to take!"

Cador nodded, and they attacked the Erainn warriors between them and Gamal. The wooden deck was slick now with the blood and piss and excrement of the dead, a horrific smell, overpowering the salt scent of the ocean. Drystan parried a blow from the man in front of him as he noticed a short sword aimed for his neck coming from his right side.

With a battle cry worthy of the mightiest warrior, a vision of moonlight and silver hurled herself on the man attacking him, and he crumpled at Drystan's feet, a dagger in his back.

Yseult yanked the dagger out of the dead man's body and pulled his short sword out of his lifeless hands. The skirt of her tunic ripped off to the tops of her thighs, and sword and dagger in either hand, she plunged into the fray, heading for Gamal. Drystan did his best to guard her back, Cador beside him.

Yseult reached her prey, and with another unearthly scream, she gutted him.

As if they had all been put under some kind of spell, the fighting stopped. They turned to watch Gamal fall to his knees in front of the woman he had kidnaped and raped, his hands clutching the dagger in his belly. He stared up at her, looking as if he wanted to say something, and then fell to his face in the mess on the deck.

With their leader dead, the other Erainn warriors threw down their weapons, crying for mercy. Drystan wiped the sweat out of his eyes with his forearm and looked them over: most likely
bothach
, clients without honor-price, who would take any work offered them.

"Deal with them," he said shortly to Cador and moved forward to lay an arm around Yseult and draw her away, from battle and battle-madness.

"Brangwyn has brought Kustennin," he murmured, his voice as gentle as he could make it after a bloody battle. "They wait, heavily guarded, in the deck house of our ship."

Slowly the madness began to leave her eyes, and she tried to wipe some of the blood off of her face and arms. She took a deep breath. "He is well?"

Drystan nodded. "But hungry. He refused the wet nurse Marcus found for him, and he does not care for goat's milk."

As they stepped off the gangplank, Brangwyn emerged from the deck house, in her arms Kustennin, crying at the top of his lungs.

Yseult hurried forward and took him from Brangwyn with a sob, opening her tunic and turning his head toward her breast. At first he only cried louder, disturbed perhaps by the strange smell of blood and death. But then the familiar scent of his mother seemed to reach him, and he latched onto the dripping nipple. Yseult let out a shuddering sigh, and she looked at Drystan.

"Take me to my mother. Please."

* * * *

For the rest of that day, Yseult nursed Kustennin nearly twice as often as normal. The pull of his small mouth on her breasts was sharp pain and relief and joy all at once. Luckily, he was hungry and demanding, and by evening the soreness of her breasts finally began to abate.

After the battle, half their company turned back. Kurvenal took command of the Erainn ship and its surviving warriors and returned to Dyn Tagell; the fighters who had been in Gamal's employ had declared their willingness to go into service in Britain, and there would be no ransom to be men without an honor price.

Yseult and Brangwyn continued north with Drystan in Marcus's ship to the port of Inber Da Glas, the closest port to Dun Ailinne.

"Will you remain in Dyn Tagell when you return?" Yseult asked, watching her homeland draw near.

Drystan nodded. "At least until my father sends me elsewhere or Arthur summons me."

"Let us hope Arthur soon hears from Ambrosius," she said.

Cador joined them at the railing. "The Lord willing," he said quietly. Yseult glanced at him sharply. She had not been aware that he was a Christian. But why should she be surprised? Even her husband regarded himself as a Christian, although all he believed in was himself.

"Will we stay long in this wild land?" Cador asked, addressing Drystan.

Drystan shook his head. "Only long enough to bring Yseult to her relatives and buy new supplies."

"Too bad." The young king smiled. "I would have liked to see something of a land which resisted Rome."

They sailed into the port without being challenged; Yseult's mother must be aware that she was coming. Sure enough, as they lowered the landing boat into the water, a small party came out to the beach. Yseult smiled. Tall and blond, her mother stood at the front of the party of fianna warriors acting as her escort.

Several members of the fianna waded out to meet their boat. She handed the basket holding Kustennin to one of them and allowed two more to take her on their shoulders and carry her the last few strides to shore. When her feet touched sand, her mother was already there beside her and took her in a hard embrace.

Her reserved mother, Yseult the Wise, Queen of the Tuatha Dé Danann.

It was so good to be home. They pushed back and held each other at arm's length, and she examined her mother's face. To her relief, there was color in her cheeks again, and the hollowness of her face and the dark circles around her eyes were gone. "You are well."

Yseult the Wise nodded and glanced over at Drystan. "The bard has repaid his debt."

Drystan bowed. "Thank you, Lady."

"Bard?" Cador echoed, sloughing barefoot through the shallow surf, his shoes in his hand.

"I will tell you the tale on the way back to Britain, Cousin," Drystan said.

Yseult smiled; she would have loved to hear the tale Drystan would tell.

"And you?" her mother asked her, her voice full of concern.

"I too am well — I have my son again." Yseult bent over the basket in the sand next to her and lifted the baby out. "Come, Kustennin, it is time to meet your grandmother."

* * * *

The next morning, Drystan and Cador set sail for Britian again, carrying a brace of Erainn hunting hounds in addition to supplies for their journey, all as thanks from the queen for saving her daughter.

Yseult watched their ship sail east, both disappointed and relieved that there had been no opportunity for private farewells. Here in the land of her birth, without Drystan and without Marcus, perhaps she would be able to clear her mind enough that she could think. With Drystan around, her attraction to him left her so little of herself that it was hard to know what she really wanted.

They set out for Dun Ailinne the same day. Things that Yseult had once taken for granted filled her now with wonder: the fortified homesteads with their thatched-roof round-houses; the bright squares of color on cloaks and tunics; the wealth of jewelry on forearms and upper arms and necks of the men and woman they met on the road. It was at once so familiar and so strange, Yseult felt as if she were in two places at once — a home she had never left, and a fantastic world utterly different from her everyday life.

When the royal hill of Dun Ailinne came into view, Yseult drew in a sharp breath. It was a kind of home, after all. From here, she had ridden with the Fianna, tending their wounds and practicing sword-fighting. Here, exaggerated songs had been sung about her exploits that made her laugh.

Here, she had received the head of her uncle in a woven basket.

She glanced at Brangwyn beside her, at her stony expression as she gazed at the place she had once lived with Aidenn. Yseult would not intrude on her cousin's thoughts now.

Although many had died in the wars with the Ui Neill, there were still familiar faces to greet them as they rode between the round-houses. Illann and Ailbe were overseeing footraces between the younger boys on the practice grounds, and when they saw her, they waved and smiled. It was good to see them alive and well. Not all the faces missing were dead, she knew that; Crimthann's brothers Eochu and Faelan had taken charge of raths elsewhere, and a number of those with blood of the Tuatha Dé had retreated to the hills, leaving the Gael to fight their battles alone.

Yseult wondered if Brangwyn would visit her mother while they were here.

"I think not," Brangwyn said as they dismounted. "But I would like to go to Druim Dara to see Brigid."

Yseult smiled. She had not wanted to intrude on her cousin's thoughts, but her cousin apparently had no such qualms.

Before Yseult could voice her agreement, her mother joined the conversation. "You will find things different at the place of the Sacred Oak," the queen said, her expression serious. "The world is changing, and Eriu is changing with it."

"Yes, I am well aware of that." Yseult searched her mother's mind to find the meaning behind the words, but there was only a wall of regret. "What are you trying to tell us?"

Yseult the Wise looked down at the mane of her bay mare and then up again. "Brigid has declared that there should be peace between the religion of Danu and the religion of the Christ. She is allowing Patraic to build a church near the sacred fire."

Yseult drew in a deep breath. This went against everything her mother had ever fought for. "A church at the holy site of Druim Dara?"

The queen nodded. "Cill Dara, it will be called."

Yseult shook her head. How could the ban druid invite the Christ to Druim Dara, allow him to be worshiped there alongside Anu, Danu and Brigid?

"She told me the signs had become too strong to ignore," her mother said, answering the question she had not asked, at least not out loud. A sardonic smile turned up her lips, an expression totally unlike the mother Yseult thought she knew. "Brigid also said that after what happened to us, she saw no reason to try avoiding a prophecy."

"What was the prophecy?" Brangwyn asked.

"Brigid had a series of dreams concerning the future of the old ways. You can ask her more when you see her."

They approached the gates of the rath. "And what do you think?" Yseult asked.

The queen didn't answer for a moment. Finally she sighed. "I don't know. For many years, I tried to curb the growing influence of the new religion in Eriu, but at the same time, I often wondered if the actions I was taking were right."

Yseult pulled up her mount, wondering how much more confused the world could get. Her mother was Yseult the Wise!

Her mother reined in her own mare. "The course I chose put the three of us into bondage. And you ended up married to Marcus Cunomorus despite all we did."

Yseult still wasn't convinced, but now Crimthann was striding through the gates of the rath to greet them, and they dismounted, handing their reins over to stablehands. Then suddenly she was assaulted by two long-limbed beasts, tongues wet and tails wagging.