Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur (70 page)

"No." Marcus turned to Arthur, studiously ignoring the Queen of the Laigin. "This whole discussion is a farce. What authority do you have to make judgment on my doings within my kingdom?"

Yseult could hardly see Arthur's anger in his gestures, but she could feel it in his mind. "I am Ambrosius's deputy and responsible for the defense of Britain, which you would have endangered if your execution of your wife had been carried out."

Marcus shook his head, an empty smile curling up his lips. "You cannot be Ambrosius's deputy because Ambrosius is dead."

For a moment, no one in the hall said a word. Many would have agreed with Marcus, but all knew how little Arthur cared to hear the words spoken.

It was her mother who finally broke the silence. "I can assure you that King Crimthann of the Laigin at least is alive and well. I daresay he would be more than inclined to lay waste to the coast of Dumnonia if my daughter were executed."

Yseult could feel how much Marcus wished to ignore her mother, but at the same time, he was calculating costs in lives and hostages and properties.

"If it is true that Ambrosius is dead, then I could well claim title of regent in the name of my sons," Modrun said with a smile. "You would have to listen to me."

Marcus rose and whirled on her. "If it is true, a council would have to be called and a new high king chosen."

Modrun too rose to face him, leaning her hands on the table. "But you must admit,
Protector
of Dumnonia, of those in this room, Arthur and I are much closer to the throne than you. Cousin once removed of Ambrosius, son-in-law of Erbin, you rule your Dumnonian territories through your marriage to Argante and only your Armorican territories through blood. Any blood claim you had on Dumnonia, you murdered."

Yseult could feel Marcus's resistance evaporate at the implicit threat to his power base. He grew just perceptibly paler in the light of the central fire. It was good thing that the news of Drystan's survival had not yet reached him.

Modrun cocked her head to one side as if she were considering something. "If an election for high king is held, the regional kings of Dumnonia can just as well chose a new protector. There are a number of likely candidates in the kinship group of Erbin, I believe."

Arthur nodded. "Such as my nephew Medraut. Or myself."

Yseult could hear Marcus screaming
bastard
in his mind as loudly as if he had spoken the word.

"The rest of Dumnonia besides Dortrig could be put under the rule of Cador," Myrddin suggested thoughtfully. "He is Erbin's grandson."

"What is it you wish me to do?" Marcus got out.

Arthur rose and faced him. "For the sake of the peace of Britain, I want you to swear no harm will come to Yseult. I will send a messenger regularly to Isca to make certain of her well-being."

"And I would like to accompany my daughter to Isca," her mother added. "I have never seen my grandson."

Arthur gave a slight smile, nodding. It was clear to everyone that it wasn't a request.

Marcus recognized Arthur's ruse, Yseult saw that; he suspected that the messenger would also be a spy, and that she was to be his contact. When she returned with him to Isca, she would have to use her power of knowing to get behind his true dealings and provide Arthur with the information he desired. Already, her husband was devising ways of keeping her from seeing anything he didn't want her to see, inventing scenes to stage for her benefit.

Her eyes met Modrun's, and she knew the other woman was also aware of Marcus's plans. A feeling of resigned humor reached her, and Yseult smiled.

Then she caught her husband's thought that at least he would have a use for her after all, Erainn slut. She could no longer smile.

Arthur was not yet done with the measures he had devised to curb Marcus Cunomorus. "I will also personally take over the defense of Dyn Tagell, since you no longer have any adult male relatives to assist you."

The violence Marcus now wished upon Arthur grew too much for Yseult, and she closed off her mind.

Marcus nodded a curt assent. "When may I return with my wife to Isca?"

"The lady Yseult will be returned to you after I have taken control of the fortress of Dyn Tagell," Arthur announced.

Yseult couldn't repress the whimper of despair that rose up in her throat at the delay in seeing Kustennin again, and Marcus glanced at her sharply.

"May I at least speak with my
lady wife
in private?" Marcus asked.

"Certainly."

Yseult rose and led the way to her chamber, Marcus following.

"How is Kustennin?" she asked, closing the door behind them.

"Well. He is quite fond of Newlyna."

It took Yseult a few seconds to remember the name; he was speaking of the mistress who had succeeded Trephina. She didn't understand why he would think the mention of his mistress would pain her, but he did.

She looked away. "I would have gone with you now," she said, trying to sound repentant. "I did not know that Arthur intended to use me to take Dyn Tagell from you."

"It doesn't much matter what you intended," Marcus said, his hands clenched behind his back. She needed none of her powers to know that he was restraining himself from hurting her only with the greatest effort. "The result is the same, and you will pay for it."

He was gloating at the realization that Kustennin was something he could threaten her with, that he had power over her through her son. While it was true, perhaps there was some way she could turn it to her own advantage. At least if he thought she was no longer a threat, he would allow her to return to Kustennin — and perhaps allow her to live. Yes, Arthur had threatened him with loss of power if anything were to happen to her, but how far did that really go with Marcus? She didn't know.

She bowed her head. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry is not enough. You have made an absolute fool of me. I want you to suffer as I have suffered."

Yseult watched him pace, not answering. What kind of an answer could there be to a statement like that?

"From now on, you are to obey me in everything. If you do not become an obedient wife, I will see to it that you are separated from our son permanently."

"I understand."

He stopped in front of her, taking her shoulders in a painful grip. "Good. You are mine now, to do with as I please."

Yseult kept her eyes downcast as his hands tightened on her shoulders. "But you will need to be discreet as long as my mother is with us," she reminded him.

"For your sake and hers, you will make sure she does not stay with us long."

Yseult nodded. Marcus was becoming unpredictable, and she didn't want him venting his rage on her mother.

From beneath her eyelashes, she could see him smile, but she didn't allow herself to react. If this was what she had to do to keep herself alive and with Kustennin, she would do it. At least it made her valuable to Marcus again.

* * * *

Drystan felt his stomach clench tight when he saw the hill-fort of Celliwig come into view. Hopefully she had not left yet.

The last time he had been here was for Arthur's Christmas wedding, a lifetime ago — or if not a lifetime, a life. A life lost and won again. He could hardly believe it had been only a few months. Then it had almost been Kustennin's birthday, now it was almost his own.

The smell of flowers in the air vied with the smell of new grass mixed with late spring heat as he and Kurvenal followed the road up from the Camel River to its tributary the Cammlann. It had been easy enough to find an excuse to leave Cador and Dyn Draithou; even before the news had arrived that Yseult would soon return to Marcus, the tidings arrived from Armorica that their uncle Riwallon's health was failing.

While Cador barely knew Riwallon, for Drystan, he was foster father, closer to him in spirit than the man who had sired him. But Marcus too was a foster father — Cador's. At times, Drystan had the feeling that Cador had a harder time believing what Marcus Cunomorus was capable of than Drystan himself. His father and his cousin were not close as Drystan and Riwallon were, but during Cador's fosterage, it was Marcus Cunomorus who had provided the figure of authority for Cador to look up to.

Sometimes Drystan wondered how his cousin had become so honest and honorable.

The news of Riwallon's illness was a convenient excuse to take his leave of Cador and Dyn Draithou. He thanked his cousin for taking him in when his own father sought to take his life, telling him he wanted to go to Leonis to see foster father again in case his illness was serious.

He did not say that he planned to seek out Yseult first.

Cador bid them farewell and saw them on their way, never once mentioning the stories they had all heard; stories of passion and betrayal and near death, stories in so many strange versions that Drystan found it hard to believe they were based on any semblance of truth, although he had lived it.

"Drys," Kurvenal said as they neared the ramparts of Celliwig.

"Yes, my friend?"

"When you continue on to Bro Leon, I will not accompany you."

Now Drystan saw what Kurvi had seen — Brangwyn coming forward through the open gates, obviously trying not to hurry but failing, her long, dark hair streaming out behind her.

Kurvenal dismounted and caught her hands in his. Drystan watched them as they spoke earnestly, without embracing, and wondered what else he had missed while he was wrapped in his own misery.

* * * *

Brangwyn stared at Kurvenal, her hands clenched tightly in his. When had his face become so very dear? Perhaps it had been when she had come so close to losing Yseult; with all the troubles of recent months, she yearned for something to give her joy, something more than the laughing face of little Judual. Something to touch, something to hold.

And Kurvenal — Kurvenal was a rock, there for her, despite the many times she had turned him away.

"I have told Drys I will not accompany him to Armorica," Kurvenal said.

She looked down, gazed at their interlocked hands. There it was, yet again, his loyalty to her — he was not even returning with Drystan to his former home.

He lifted her chin with one finger, his expression concerned. "I hope I am not too forward?"

She shook her head. "I'm glad you're staying."

He laughed out loud. "It means I am giving up my position, and I can hardly court you with no livelihood."

"Speak with Arthur. In service with Drystan, you have fought with the Dux Bellorum many times now."

"You would have me be a professional soldier?"

Brangwyn sighed. "It is what you know, is it not? What else are you to be?"

He shrugged, his expression more carefree than she had long seen it. "I could tutor princes in the use of arms."

A huff of disdain escaped her. "Below you. The world will always have need of soldiers, even in times of peace, and with any luck, Arthur may award you an important post."

"What is this? My Brangwyn commanding me to go for a soldier?"

She looked away. "Not commanding."

He pulled her hand through his arm. "Walk with me."

"Who is commanding now?"

Once again he laughed, and the tenseness at the center of her soul began to loosen. He did not laugh often, but when he did, it was a fine thing to hear.

They walked away from the entrance to the hill-fort, away from the rivers to the east and the south, the Cammlann and the Camel, and towards the forest on the opposite side of the hill, away from fields and farms and people. Brangwyn felt a pang of anticipation begin to grow in the pit of her stomach and spread out and down. As they walked, he stroked her hand, speaking of the things he would do with Drystan gone, speculating on how they would see each other if she remained with Yseult and went to Isca. She hardly noticed what he spoke of, letting the words flow over her as the anticipation in her body grew, almost painful now.

When they reached the cover of the trees, he too grew silent. After they walked a little way into their shelter, he stopped and turned to her, taking her face in his hands. "I understood you right? You will listen to me now, allow me to speak of love?"