Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur (57 page)

Chapter 25

Over the wave-patterned sea-floor,

Over the long sunburnt ridge of the world,

I bid the winds seek you.

I bid them cry to you

Night and morning

A name you loved once;

I bid them bring to you

Dreams, and strange imaginings, and sleep.

"Greeting," by Ella Young

Yseult to Drystan.

We have had word of a great battle, nearly lost, with fully half of Arthur's forces dead.

Write please, as soon as you are able, and let us know that you and Kurvenal are well. We worry and await word.

Your Yseult

Drystan to Yseult, greetings.

Thank you for your message. Kurvenal and I both survived the battle for Glevum with no more than the usual scars, although a number of our friends and compatriots were not so lucky — too many. I could give you names of those we lost, but they would mean little to you. Both Bedwyr and Cai were sore wounded and will not be able to return to Caer Leon until fully recovered. Those of us who were lucky enough not to have sustained any great injury are busy with training new recruits to replace those we lost. Others travel from one petty king to the next, making Arthur's case for more men and mounts to beat back this new Saxon threat. They will continue as long as the roads are still passable.

While it is not my place to do so, I would request you go to Lansyen early this year. Yes, Dyn Tagell is nearly impregnable, but with the Saxons just up the coast in Abona, I would rather see you and Kustennin on the other side of the peninsula.

Your Drystan

Yseult to Drystan, greetings.

How glad I am to hear that you were not among the many who fell between the banks of the Tribruit and the Sabrina.

We will take your advice and leave for Lansyen as soon as the last of Marcus's merchant ships has returned from Gaul. It will not be much earlier than usual, however; last year we were in Lansyen before Samhain, and now your Roman October is already upon us.

I will keep Ginevra and her retinue with us for the winter. She will be safer with us, and she is a pleasant companion. Kustennin is very fond of her — she is much like a child herself at times, and he will play hide and seek with her for hours.

Have you sent word to your father?

Your Yseult

Drystan to Yseult, greetings.

I sent word to my father with the same messenger who took the letter to you and my brother at Dyn Tagell. I have not yet heard back from him.

I have good news: we are seeing new recruits almost daily all along the Sabrina, from river to estuary. I can only hope that our forces fighting on the border to Ceint are receiving the same kind of support in the wake of the new threat.

I wish I could write more, but as you know, there are too many constraints on my time, etc.

I am sending this missive to Lansyen. When next you write, please send news of how Kustennin fares.

Your Drystan

Yseult to Drystan, greetings.

Gladly will I write to you of Kustennin. Being his mother, I am of course convinced no little boy ever lived who is quite as clever and precocious as he.

His energy is amazing, and he will always run before he will walk, with a smile for everyone he meets. With his blond curls and infectious laughter, he charms all who have the good fortune to be run over by him in his constant exploration of his world. His vocabulary in the Latin, British and Erainn tongues comprises dozens of words each, although there are surely several dozen more which we do not yet understand, not knowing which tongue he is trying to communicate with at any given time.

Forgive the belatedness of this reply — the removal to Lansyen took longer than expected, and we did not arrive until after Samhain. But I hear the celebration of "All Hallows Eve" was enjoyed by all.

Your Yseult

* * * *

Brangwyn to Kurvenal, greetings.

Could you not have written sooner? When we received news of the battle on the banks of the Tribruit, we were in an agony of worry. Nothing but rumors, and those bleak. Thousands dead (true, I hear), the Saxons advancing, the Saxons retreating (also both true, it turns out), and no news as to survivors. Can you understand why I have sworn to never again love a warrior?

I will pray to all the gods of my tribe that you are right and the Saxons will not attack again before spring.

But the next time there is a battle, you must notify us of your welfare sooner.

Your Brangwyn

Kurvenal to Brangwyn, greetings.

I know I should not, but I am glad you were worried about me.
Glad
. Please forgive me for such selfish thoughts. I will not go into my reasons, because you have forbidden me to do so, but given your last missive, I suspect you understand.

We must remove to Caer Leon without our Master of Horse. But in order to continue training the new recruits, we need the stables at our disposal, even without Cai. He is recovering, but he cannot yet walk, and he will receive better care in Corinium in Modrun's hands.

I wish we would be going south to Lansyen rather than west to Caer Leon for the Christmas holidays, but unfortunately these violent times do not leave us that option. Arthur is afraid that any time the weather turns, the Saxons will stop licking their wounds and attack again.

But if they do, I swear I will send you word as soon as I am able.

Your Kurvenal

Brangwyn to Kurvenal, greetings.

Despite snow, cold fog, and mist, it has been pleasant and peaceful here in Lansyen, and we would have enjoyed the presence of you and Drystan. The people of Lansyen and Voliba regard Yseult as their own, and Kustennin, the "young prince," is a favorite with all.

It looks to be a hard winter, though, and we will need all our stores of herbs to fight the sicknesses arising. We have been taking Ginevra along on our rounds and are trying to teach her what we can of the herbal lore of Eriu. She is intelligent and a great help to us.

If you have the ear of the Dux Bellorum, you might want to remind him that he was courting a young woman in our care before the Saxons decided to break the treaty of Venta and march against the Bretain again. Ginevra is young and does not yet understand that war will always take precedence over love in men's hearts.

Your Brangwyn

Kurvenal to Brangwyn, greetings.

No, I will not let that pass. War has no precedence over love "in men's hearts" as you say: when war must be fought and one's people and homeland defended, we take the memory and knowledge of love with us, but we must leave love itself behind.

Are not the women of Eriu trained to defend their hill-forts just as the men are? If Lansyen were attacked and you were there, would you be content to withdraw behind the walls and think of the husband you lost, the love you no longer have? Perhaps I sorely misjudge you, but I think not. You would not enjoy taking up sword and shield, but take them up you would. Do you think I enjoy it, the mud and pain and smell of blood? Yes, there is a strange frenzy in the midst of a battle, a perverse thrill, a kind of intoxication. I suspect you may even know it.

But few soldiers seek it as they do wine.

The new year brings nothing but cold. Can you not exhort all those gods you swear by to allow the river to thaw? Although I should perhaps be grateful — if we suffer from the cold here in Caer Leon, where the buildings stand and even some of the hypocausts still function, how much more the Saxons must be suffering in Abona, which they nearly burned to the ground before we pushed them back to a town they thought of no interest.

Your Kurvenal

Brangwyn to Kurvenal, greetings.

You are right, of course. In making the comments I did about "men," I was attempting to maintain a distance to you which you are much too good at destroying, in so many ways. Do not ask me to admit more — and do not expect that anything I do admit can give you hope.

Spring is slow in coming this year. Many of the lambs born at Imbolc (for you, the Kalends of February) were either sickly or weak. Our only comfort is that a hard winter means it will be that much longer before it is once again time for warm weather and war and death.

Stay well.

Your Brangwyn

* * * *

Drystan joined Arthur on the ramparts of the hill-fort of Caer Baddon as the sun was setting. After the snows had finally melted and the roads became passable again, Arthur had led a much stronger army south than that which had put the Saxons to flight in September. Drystan knew he still was far from confident that they could do so again, and the news Drystan brought probably would not help.

Arthur scanned the horizon to the west, his hands locked behind his back. Somewhere between here and the Sabrina estuary, the Saxons were moving inland, towards the rich prize of Aquae Sulis.

"A messenger has arrived from the south," Drystan said.

"Is it good news or bad?" Arthur asked without turning.

"Hard to say. Cerdic is on the road from Venta with a force of possibly a thousand men."

"Did Cerdic send the news?"

"No. We have it from scouts on the road to Cunetio."

Together they stood in the final rays of the late April sun, the city of Aquae Sulis spread out below them, nestled in a bend of the Abona River. Drystan knew with the training of a soldier that Arthur was not contemplating the idyllic location; what concerned him was the large number of buildings outside the thick Roman walls. The spa town of Aquae Sulis had been one of the most popular places to retire in the province of Britannia when the Romans had still upheld the legions here, and it had outgrown its borders. The surrounding countryside contained a wealth of villas. Those closest to the sea had long since been abandoned out of fear of Erainn raiders, but many farther inland were thriving agricultural estates.

If the Saxons could take a town such as this, they would have a rich base for further conquests in the heart of British territory.

"What think you, Cousin?" Arthur finally asked.

Drystan sighed. "I think it odd that Cerdic sent no word of reinforcements. And if he truly is leading close to a thousand men, why is it he has no fear of the Saxons attacking in the south?"

"Because he is married to one?" Arthur speculated.

"There is that."

"What of our scouts to the west?"

"No word yet from Abona." As soon as the weather had allowed, Drystan and Aircol had sailed from Caer Leon and attempted to attack the Saxon survivors of the battle for Glevum from the sea, but their enemy had anticipated the move and taken to the hills.

That was when Arthur gave the order to move south, quickly.

Arthur turned away from the brilliant colors of the setting sun to the sea of tents within the ramparts on the flat top of the hill-fort. The local king, Pasgen, rarely used the fort, preferring the amenities of the town below, but at least the defenses had been maintained.

Arthur crossed his arms in front of his chest. "We must watch the northern coast as well."

"You think Octha and Aesc will get reinforcements from Ceint?"

"They almost destroyed our army last year. It makes sense to use everything they have to finish what they started. The only thing I am sure of is that they have not given up yet."

Drystan wished he did not have to agree with the Dux Bellorum, but his instincts told him that the battle between the Sabrina and the Tribruit was nothing compared to the fighting they would see this summer.

As dusk descended, the fires between the tents grew brighter. The sounds coming from the camp were light-hearted, voices soft and loud, laughter, an occasional thread of song; not like the nervous near-silence of a camp on the eve of battle. They did not even know exactly where their enemy was.

"Come, let us find Bedwyr and Cai," Arthur said.

Arthur's most important generals were playing a game of dice in front of the large tent which served as headquarters for the camp. Bedwyr caught the dice up in his hand as they approached and rose, followed by Cai. Silently, they all followed Arthur into the tent.