Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur (75 page)

Drystan would do his best, but he knew he had barely more than nothing to offer.

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Drystan and Yseult of the White Hands had been married little over two months when Blodewedd died, following her beloved husband by less than a year. In the final moments, Drystan was the only one by her side other than the priest and the healer; as opposed to Riwallon, her death was sudden and unexpected. They had been discussing harvest dates for the crops with the steward Girec, when Blodewedd had been struck by a severe case of dizziness and taken to her bed.

Three days later, she was dead.

Yseult was visiting her brother in Karke at the time, and neither she nor Labiane could get to Leonis to be at Blodewedd's deathbed.

To Drystan's surprise, Blodewedd had left a last will with the local priest determining that Drystan was to act as regent in Bro Leon until Labiane's son came of age. While it was true that there were few male heirs to chose from of Riwallon's kinship group, and none of age, Labiane could have been appointed regent until her son came of age. On the other hand, Arthur might make difficulties for them; he had fought against her husband Caw in the north and still did not completely trust him. But he suspected that Blodewedd had not been thinking in terms of politics when she made her will, only the fact that Drystan was already there and looking after the running of things. The arrangement probably appeared logical to her.

When Labiane arrived for her mother's funeral, she obviously felt the same surprise at her mother's will as Drystan — and a reasonable resentment.

"I was surprised too, Labiane," Drystan said over a supper of fresh salmon with a coriander wine sauce the day she arrived. They were dining alone; the children were tired form the journey and had been put to bed after a light meal of bread and cheese to still their hunger, and Yseult was still at Karke. "I swear to you I won't take advantage of the situation."

She speared a piece of the fish with her knife. "Why should I trust you?"

He sighed: she really didn't have much reason after the way he had helped his father marry her off. "Has it all turned out so badly? You know the world better now, and it must be clear to you that Marcus Cunomorus never would have married you."

She gave an angry grunt and looked away. Perhaps she was still fooling herself about his father after all these years.

"If you see any way to take over the duties in Bro Leon yourself or with your husband, I will not insist on fulfilling Blodewedd's will," Drystan said.

This got her attention again and she gave him a hard stare. "Why would you do that?"

Drystan shrugged, dabbing up some of the sauce with his bread. "Because I have no ambition to rule."

Labiane laughed at that. "You know, Cousin, I believe you. But what would you do if I insisted on ruling in Leonis?"

"Return to Arthur. There may be peace now, but it is Arthur's army that will guarantee it."

His cousin lifted one slim eyebrow, toasting him with her glass of wine. "I wonder what Yseult would say to that."

He blinked, and then he realized that she was talking about his wife.

"Perhaps my mother's will is not such a bad arrangement after all," Labiane continued. "Arthur wants my husband where he can keep an eye on him, and I believe you that you will not wrest my children's heritage from them. Blodewedd's will be done."

Drystan nodded.

His wife arrived with her brother Kaedin the next day, and soon thereafter the funeral guests began to arrive from farther away. The crowd was not as large as it had been for Riwallon's funeral, but Ygerna and Hoel were there, and Anna and Budic, and Labiane and her children, all gathered again for the third time in less than a year.

Drystan was glad that his wife's sad eyes could be attributed to Blodewedd's death. But he caught Kaedin staring at him a few times, his lips pursed or his brow furrowed, and he wondered if Yseult had confided in her brother about how completely loveless their marriage was. But Kaedin didn't confront him, so most likely he knew no more than that his sister wasn't happy.

Drystan spent much of his time with Cwylli, showing her the newest fortifications built around the old villa, taking her to the stables, explaining to her how the baths worked — when they worked. He was sorry to see the funeral guests go; it would leave him alone with his wife and the resentful silences of their life together. At least Kaedin was staying for a time and would keep Yseult busy, although he was returning to Karke before the harvest. There was work for all in the autumn months, and, at the very least, his people would expect to see him at the harvest celebrations.

One morning, shortly before Kaedin was to leave, the three of them were out riding along the cliffs above the sea. It had rained recently, a heavy rain, too much for the dry, late summer earth to soak up all at once, and shallow pools of rainwater littered the riding paths. Yseult was riding recklessly and didn't seem interested in trying to avoid the puddles. Her gelding cantered straight into one, and mud and water splattered all the way up to the tops of her thighs.

Yseult gave a little laugh that had a hysterical edge to it. She turned to Drystan beside her. "That water came higher than the hand of a man ever did."

Drystan felt embarrassed heat rise in his cheeks, and he glanced back at Kaedin behind them.

His brother-in-law's lips were pursed in an angry line; he had heard.

Drystan didn't have to wait long for the confrontation. As soon as they had returned to the villa outside of Leonis and stabled their horses, Kaedin pulled him aside and told Yseult to go on ahead to the hall. She looked from one to the other of them, a concerned expression on her face, but Drystan had the impression she was repressing a malicious smile.

Kaedin took his elbow in a painful grip. "What was the meaning of that back there on the path? Are you avoiding my sister's bed?"

What was he to say? The truth would be an insult, and his wife's brother did not deserve a lie. He knew it as well as Kaedin did — he was doing Yseult of the White Hands a wrong.

Kaedin's grip tightened and he shook Drystan's elbow. "So it is true? She is still a virgin?"

"Yes."

Kaedin's fist shot out with the fury of scorned family honor and took him in the jaw, spinning him around. Drystan dropped to his knees beside the stables, a hand to his aching face. Luckily, some stable hands saw what was happening and ran over to take Kaedin by either arm before he had time to land the kick he had been aiming at Drystan's abdomen. Drystan didn't feel as if he had the right to defend himself.

While the stablehands held Kaedin back, the blacksmith went to fetch Yseult. When she saw him kneeling in the dirt, she rushed to his side.

"You didn't need to hurt him!" she said to her brother, her arm around Drystan.

"Let go of me," Kaedin growled. "I won't harm him again."

Still holding his jaw in one hand, wondering if it were broken, Drystan nodded at the men holding Kaedin. They stepped back.

"The three of us must talk," his brother-in-law said and stomped off.

Yseult cooed over him, looking slightly remorseful and a little pleased at the same time. Drystan got back to his feet, wishing she wouldn't hang on him so. Together they followed Kaedin through the entrance of the villa to the atrium and down the hall, Yseult with her arm around him, making as if to support him — a support Drystan neither wanted nor needed.

Kaedin was pacing angrily in the guest room off the hall. When they entered, he shut the door behind them and turned to Drystan.

"I want you to make a wife of my sister or I swear, I will kill you with my own bare hands."

Drystan saw the way Yseult's face lit up at the first half of this sentence and fell at the second. She grabbed her brother's arm. "Kaedin, no! You can't hurt him!"

He looked down at her, scowling. "How can you take his side? He — he isn't even being a husband to you!"

Drystan suspected that the words almost on Kaedin's lips had been crasser, but he wanted to hurt his sister as little as possible. He suddenly had an image of Cwylli, his little sister whom he barely knew and couldn't even acknowledge. And Drystan would gladly wring the neck of anyone who treated her the way he had been treating Yseult of the White Hands.

How had they come to this? How could he have thought it his duty, a kindness, to marry a woman he knew he could never love?

And now she was saying, "But I love him."

He was sure Kaedin agreed with him that Yseult must be deluding herself. But Kaedin was her older brother, and he hated the thought of hurting her.

Kaedin sighed and raked one hand through his straw-blond hair. "He doesn't deserve it, you know, Ysa."

It was the first time Drystan had heard this nickname for his wife, and it made her seem much more human.

But he still couldn't love her.

She shrugged. "Can we choose who we love?"

Drystan blinked. It wasn't often that he agreed with Yseult of the White Hands, but this time he had to.

Unfortunately, she could recognize that simple truth for herself, but not for him.

Kaedin made a sound of disgust and turned to Drystan. "I'm returning to Karke tomorrow, but I will come back for a visit on All Saints. I will speak to my sister then and hope to hear that you have had a change of mind."

Drystan didn't answer, and Yseult slipped her arm through his. "You are always welcome here, Kaedin."

Her brother nodded shortly and stormed out of the room. Rather than face his wife, Drystan followed him but left the villa in another direction.

He walked the hills above Leonis for hours, hardly noticing where he was going. He could not do this anymore, could not live this way. How could Yseult the Fair, his Yseult, have lived with Marcus Cunomorus for so many years? It was a farce, but not a comedy, something painful that twisted his stomach with its twisted truths.

Drystan stopped for a moment next to a field of garlic, watching a family dig up the bulbs and place them in their baskets. They greeted him with a smile and returned to their work. One woman sat on a bench in the shade of a house, braiding bulbs which had already been dried.

He turned away and continued towards the sea.

She was there, on the other side of the whipping gray-green ocean, beyond the sound of the waves and the calls of the gulls. He had to see her again, had to talk her into leaving his father somehow. They were ruining their lives, ruining the lives of others with the lies they tried to live. It couldn't go on.

But he had responsibilities, he was in charge of running Bro Leon. He would have to stay until the harvest was over.

And he had to leave before Kaedin returned to Leonis.

Only how could he get to Isca to speak with Yseult? His father might have come to his wedding, but Drystan was sure he would not be welcome anywhere in Dumnonia where Marcus still ruled.

Well, it would not be the first time he'd played a role. He had been a bard before, he could be a bard again.

Chapter 33

... my soul would drink of her soul through every sense,

Thirsting for her, as earth, in the heat intense,

For the soft song and the gentle dropping of rain.

But I sit here as a smouldering fire of pain,

Lonely, here! And the wind in the forest grieves,

And I hear my sorrow sobbing among the leaves.

Frederic Manning, "Tristram"

Getting to Isca was easier than he had anticipated. The garlic had inspired him, and when the harvest was over, he arranged to take a shipment of garlic and grain to the trading center of Kemper, where he could get a better price for it. During his life in Eriu he had learned to always make his lies as close to the truth as possible, so travel to Kemper with garlic and grain is what he did.

It was there he disappeared. When he became a bard again, his fingers were rusty on the strings of his harp, but it came back to him quicker than he'd expected. In these lands, where many of the old ways were forgotten, "traveling minstrel" was a more appropriate term than bard. While the harp slung across his back made him welcome nearly anywhere he went, he was an entertainer and not a figure of respect. But not all those old memories were gone — if he had been wearing the robes of a druid, Drystan knew he would enjoy a position close to that he had enjoyed in Eriu.