Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur (73 page)

"You have a very demanding granddaughter," he said to his foster mother.

Blodewedd laughed. "And very tall."

It was so good to hear her laugh again. He reached his hand out to Blodewedd, drawing her up. "Come, let us show your guests what the future of Bro Leon looks like."

With his foster mother on his arm, and his sister who was also his cousin once removed on his shoulders, Drystan continued the rounds of the guests at the funeral banquet. Strange, complicated relationships. In Britain, he had left behind a step-mother who was his lover and a brother who was his son. He wondered how many of the others in this hall were related in ways that shouldn't be.

Before the guests sat down to the wild boar with cumin and plum sauce, it had begun to snow again, thick flakes which covered the ground quickly.

"Oh, dear," Blodewedd said beside him as they stood in front of the double doors of Riwallon's hall. "I hope we will not have to feed them all through the winter."

Cwylli demanded to be let down. The two of them watched as she dashed into the snow and immediately started making snowballs to throw at the goats huddled together in their pen.

Before Drystan could respond to Blodewedd's words, Yseult of Karke joined them, laying one of her famous white hands on his elbow. "I know it's a nuisance, but I love to look on a landscape covered in snow. Everything that might otherwise be ugly or imperfect is covered. Don't you agree?"

She looked up at him and Drystan looked down. If it had been his Yseult beside him, he could have looked at her eye-to-eye.

"It's beautiful, yes, if you ignore the danger."

She smiled. "What danger?"

Ah, she was so young, so inexperienced. But not innocent. The smile she was using on him was very calculating. He sighed. It was easy enough to see that she thought she had made a conquest, and now he would have to disabuse her of that notion.

It had been interesting to feel that thrill of physical excitement again, like the onset of infatuation, but what he knew and Yseult did not was how artificial it had been, how little chance it had of developing into anything serious.

He gazed into her sparkling blue eyes. What harm could it do to respond to that spark? As long as he made it clear to her that she could expect nothing from him, perhaps he could indulge in a light flirtation with this pretty young woman. He couldn't even remember the last time he had flirted and laughed and played those little games with someone he was attracted to. Perhaps it would ease his heart a bit.

He put his own hand over the slim white one on his elbow. "Shall we join Cwylli in throwing snowballs at goats?" he asked with a smile.

* * * *

By spring, Drystan was engaged to be married to Yseult of the White Hands.

Chapter 32

And so upon a time Sir Tristram agreed to wed Isoud la Blanche Mains. And at the last they were wedded, and solemnly held their marriage. And so when they were abed both Sir Tristram remembered him of his old lady La Beale Isoud. And then he took such a thought suddenly that he was all dismayed, and other cheer made he none but with clipping and kissing; as for other fleshly lusts Sir Tristram never thought nor had ado with her ...

Sir Thomas Malory,
Le Morte D'Arthur

Yseult the Fair sat down on a bench in front of a bed of wildly blooming purple violets, while Cador remained standing. Kustennin would have none of that and ran over to the bird bath to see the birds fly.

Every time Cador came to visit, she was even more glad that Marcus believed she would provide him with misinformation for Arthur; the day-to-day pain of her present life was more than she would have imagined possible, and it was eating away at her bit by little bit. As long as her mother had been here, the misery had not been quite as complete, but Yseult the Wise had no excuse to remain past summer, when the seas became rougher and the trip to Eriu more dangerous.

These days, the only time Yseult did not feel she had to be on her guard was during the meetings with Cador. If not for Brangwyn, she sometimes thought she would have gone insane.

Today, both boys were with them; Brangwyn was in Isca to visit Kurvenal for the day.

"It's very generous of you to have taken Judual into your household," Cador said, shouldering the toddler who had been clambering at his feet moments before.

Yseult shot him a disbelieving glance, but he seemed to be sincere. By now, all of southwest Britain knew about her flight with Drystan last year after being condemned to death by Marcus. After Arthur had negotiated the reconciliation, they attempted to set about stories to give the incidents which could not be denied a different slant, a romantic tale Myrddin had contrived including bedding down with a sword between them and a remorseful Marcus discovering the evidence of their innocence. Yseult had heard the tales being told in the market of Isca, had heard the rumors that the two of them had fled separately and must be innocent, had heard the stories that were closer to the truth, that they had deceived Marcus and deserved everything they got.

Myrddin's was a fine tale, but totally unbelievable. Not only would it have taken more than a sword to stop Yseult and Drystan if they were in a bed together — Marcus had probably never been remorseful in his life.

"You must be the only person within a week's ride of here who believes that," Yseult said. She held out her hands. "Should I take him?"

Cador shook his head. "I enjoy the young ones."

She smiled. "I know." It was a pity that Cador's brief marriage to Edain had remained childless — he would have made an excellent father. Edain had died in childbed in January, leaving Cador a widower at the tender age of twenty. "You are a favorite with Kustennin. He likes you more than his own brother."

Cador gazed over to where Kustennin was splashing the water in the bird bath that he now had to himself. "Who he may never see again," he said quietly.

Yseult rose, staring down at the gravel of the path. "Come, let us move farther away from the villa."

Cador followed her, Judual perched happily on his hip, as she took the pathway away from the formal gardens and past the east wing of the villa. When they were out of hearing distance of the walls, she said, "Marcus is planning a trip north, to Lot at Din Eidyn."

He stopped and put down Judual, who promptly toddled after Kustennin. "He told you this?"

She shook her head. "No, I overheard it." She didn't tell him she'd overheard it in Marcus's thoughts. The secret of her ability was an advantage she did not even want to trust to a friend. "What he told me was that he needed to go to Armorica to see to a new steward at Caer Haes."

"Do you know any more about his planned trip to the north?" he asked.

She pulled a branch of a cherry tree down to smell the blossoms and then moved it towards him so he would lean closer. "Marcus is not the only one who will visit Lot at Din Eidyn," she whispered. "Cadwallon of Gwynedd, Urien of Gore and Hueil and some of the other sons of Caw also plan to join them."

Cador's expression was worried. "This makes too much sense. Lot and Marcus at least are related to the line of the High King."

"Yes. And they believe Ambrosius dead."

When Cador looked as if he was about to pace, Yseult laid her hand on his arm and turned him gently to follow the boys.

"Where is your husband now?" Cador finally asked.

"At the offices of the merchant who sells his tin abroad. He needs more funds, I think." Judual fell, and Yseult bent down to pick him up. "Cador, you must try to convince Arthur that Britain needs a new High King. He has to finally admit that Ambrosius is dead and allow a council to be called to select a successor."

Cador nodded. "I have long thought so. Most of us have."

"Then you must tell him."

Judual squirmed, wanting to run in after Kustennin, and she put him back down again. She glanced up at the sky; the sun was only a handspan above the red tile roofs of the villa. She sighed. "I think perhaps we should turn back now."

"As you wish."

Yseult waved to Kustennin, who was making a pile of rocks next to an ornamental terrace. "Kustennin! It's time for us to go back in."

He scrambled up and began running towards Judual, who was squealing happily at the sight of his older playmate.

Cador watched them with a smile. "I am not only here on Arthur's business, you know. My visit also concerns Kustennin."

"Oh?"

"I wanted to suggest that he go into fosterage with me when he is of the right age."

Yseult shook her head. She could hardly imagine a better foster father for her son, but Marcus wouldn't go along with it. "If it were my decision to make, you can be assured that I would say yes. But Marcus will want to decide himself."

"It is not for over two years yet, but I hope you can persuade him. Kustennin has no aunts or uncles to take on the task, and these things must be arranged. And I truly would enjoy fostering him, you know that."

"Yes, I do." But what would she do without Kustennin, while still trapped in marriage to Marcus? Already she found it hard to take much joy in life with Drystan gone and her husband acting the husband again. She was not herself anymore. At times she even found herself wondering if Kustennin had been worth the sacrifice. And then he would ask a new question or master a new feat and her heart would lift.

But she awoke each morning with her stomach cramped in dread.

She watched her son now as he raced ahead of them to scale a stone wall near the road. If Kustennin were gone, away in fosterage, Marcus could not take him away from her.

"You don't have to stay with Marcus, you know," Cador murmured, as if he could read her mind. And perhaps he could, whether he knew that was what he was doing or not — several of the women of his family showed some talent in that way, why not Cador?

When she didn't reply, he continued. "Arthur may have thought he was doing what was best for you, but it's obvious you're miserable."

Yseult choked back a humorless laugh. There was no point in denying it. "Marcus had Kustennin."

He nodded. "True."

"And at least he is often away. Which is what we should be discussing rather than my marriage."

Cador gave her a rueful smile. "Yes, I know that is what I am supposed to be discussing, but I cannot see you like this, Yseult."

She looked away, but she was grateful for his concern. And perhaps he was right. Perhaps she had given up too easily —there might still be some way to get out of this farce of a marriage.

But what of Kustennin?

They had no opportunity to discuss her own situation further: Yseult could feel the ill-will heading her way even before she noticed Andred coming around the corner of the new wooden storehouses Marcus had built last year. He was gloating, that much was certain, even though she could not yet discern the cause.

She touched Cador's arm and indicated with an inclination of her head that they were no longer alone.

Andred came up to them, a false smile on his face. "News from Armorica, Lady."

At the first words, she knew what he was going to tell her, and she clenched her hand on Cador's arm.
No.

"Drystan is engaged to be married to the daughter of Jovelin of Karke, Yseult of the White Hands."

Her stomach seemed to have opened into a bottomless pit, and she felt suddenly faint. But she couldn't let Andred see her reaction; it was exactly what he wanted. The muscles of Cador's arm stiffened beneath her hand; she had an ally.

Andred had tried to ruin her before, over and over, but this time he had come closer to his goal than ever before — her heart felt as if it had stopped, and the whole world had become a single, sharp point of pain.

How could anything hurt so much?

She couldn't let him see it
. She gave Andred a faint smile. "That certainly is news. Has Marcus been informed?" She hoped he understood her reaction as a rebuke for ignoring his duties to come out to the villa gardens to find her.

Andred shook his head. "He has not yet returned from Isca yet."

"See to it that a messenger is sent to him immediately. It is not every day that a man has a son who is to be married." Marcus probably would not care, but the three of them did attempt to uphold the fiction that the accusation of adultery against Drystan and Yseult had been a mistake.