Tristan and Iseult

by Rosemary Sutcliff

  ‘So Andret spoke truth,’ said the King.

  ‘And what truth was that?’ said Iseult, gathering up her hair.

  ‘He told me that there was love between Tristan and you; and I would not believe him. I told him that I would not believe until I saw the thing with my own eyes. I trusted you both.’

  ‘Trust us still,’ said Iseult. I do love Tristan, why should I not? He is your kinsman, and mine. I nursed him when he was sick enough to die, and he is become like a brother to me. And in the way that I love him, so he loves me.’

  ‘I wish that I could believe you,’ said the King. I would give all that I possess to be able to believe you.’ And to Tristan he said, ‘She shall be to me as she was before, as though nothing of this had happened. But you must leave my Court.’ And he spoke gently, but his hand was on his sword.

  And Tristan went, he and Gorvenal, and took lodgings with an old swordsmith in the town inland of the castie.

  ‘It would be better that we go far away from here,’ said Gorvenal. ‘Let us go and seek adventure elsewhere.’

  ‘More dragons to kill?’ said Tristan, and he laughed, with his head in his hands. ‘Dear, sensible Gorvenal, it would be best that we go to the farthest ends of the earth. But I can no more leave the Queen than I can pluck the living heart out of my breast.’

  Now it was coming on to high summer, and at that time of year, when there was peace in the land, the King and his Court would leave the grim castle on its headland, and spread out into the wooden halls and bowers among the gardens and the little hardy apple orchards on the landward side. The Queen had lodgings of her own close beside a little stream that flowed out of the woods and went purling down to the cove below the castle, so that it was always cool on the hottest August days.

  And the Queen sent Brangian by night with a message to Tristan’s lodging, bidding him find means to meet her, if he would not have her die of longing to be with him again. And Tristan sent back word: ‘Keep a watch at twilight on the stream that flows past your bower, and if a branch comes floating by, keep watch still; and if a piece of bark carved with a five-pointed star comes floating after, then I shall be waiting under the wild pear tree where the stream comes out of the woods, and it will be safe for you to come to me.’

  So every twilight, Iseult or Brangian watched the stream, until one evening the branch followed by the five-pointed star came floating down, and then the Queen slipped out and away in the dusk, to find Tristan waiting for her under the wild pear tree. And after this happened the first time, it happened many times again.

  And then Andret, and the lords who followed him, began to wonder whether Tristan and the Queen had parted indeed, or whether they had found means to meet in secret. And Andret went to a certain dwarf about the Court, a man who he had befriended from time to time; a man who possessed ancient skills and could read the answers to all questions in the stars, and bade him find out whether or no the Queen and Tristan were still lovers. So the dwarf looked into the stars all one long night, and said, ‘The Queen and the Lord Tristan are still meeting in secret, and if the King comes with me, he shall see them for himself.’

  And Andret took the dwarf to the King. ‘Give out that you are going on a hunting trip, but turn back. This night, thinking you safe away, they will meet under the big wild pear tree where the stream comes out of the woods.

  ‘Is this the truth?’ said the King.

  ‘Come with me and see,’ said the dwarf, ‘and if I lie, you have my fell leave to cut off my head.’

  ‘If you lie, I shall not ask your leave,’ said the King.

  So the King called for his horses and hounds and rode out as though for hunting, giving it out that he would be gone seven days. But before he was half a day’s ride from Tintagel, he made an excuse to leave the rest of the hunting party to go on without him, and turned back to where the dwarf was waiting. Together they went to where the wild pear tree grew on the edge of the woods, and the King helped the dwarf up into it and then climbed up after him.

  Dusk came, and a moon rose over the hills, casting its snail-shine of silver across the sky. And with the moon, Tristan came up the stream-side. He broke off a branch from the pear tree and sent it down the stream, then pulled a piece of bark from one of the ancient silver birches close by, and sat down on the bank to scratch with his dagger the five-pointed star that would call Iseult out to him, and sent it after the branch. And all the while the King and the dwarf watched him through the branches overhead.

  Now just below the tree, where Tristan sat, the stream broadened into a little pool and the water was quiet under the bank; and as the moon rose higher it turned the surface of the water to a trembling mirror, so that Tristan, leaning forward, could see his own head and shoulders reflected in it, and the dark branches of the pear tree beyond – and clear against the moonlight, the outline of two figures among the branches!

  Then Tristan knew that Andret or maybe even the King himself, or both of them, were watching him, watching for Iseult. And there was nothing he could do; the branch and the star had long since gone on their way, and Iseult would be coming swiftly in answer. He had no means of warning her, and if he went away she would come, and finding no one there, might betray herself to the watchers in the tree. Even if he went to meet her and turn her back, they had seen him send the message, and would guess the meaning of what they saw. There was nothing to be done but wait for her to come, and try to warn her under their watchful gaze. And if he failed, it would be death for them both, he knew that; and for himself, he was past caring overmuch; but for her . . .

  He gave no sign of what he had seen, but sat quietly waiting. And as he waited he heard once or twice a faint rustle that was not the wind in the branches overhead.

  Iseult received his message, and as usual slipped away with Brangian’s help and hurried gladly to meet her love. But when she came near to the tree, and saw Tristan sitting on the bank, he never moved, and this seemed strange to her, for usually at first sight of her coming, he would leap up and come striding to catch her in his arms. And so she walked more slowly herself. And as she drew nearer still, he made a tiny gesture of warning towards the tree behind him. And glancing up, she saw the shadows of the two watchers in the branches. And she understood.

  So she said, cool and clear, ‘My Lord Tristan, why did you send for me?’

  ‘I must speak with you alone,’ said Tristan, ‘for I sorely need your help.’

  ‘My help? In what way would that be?

  ‘To soften the King’s unjust anger towards me, that I may return to Court, for it is an ill thing to be ordered from his presence like a disobedient hound; and all men talk against me.’

  ‘They talk against both of us,’ said Iseult, ‘and the fault is yours, for you should have remembered that we are not indeed brother and sister, and that therefore we cannot be together freely as brother and sister would be, without setting dark suspicions in people’s minds.’

  ‘If I should have remembered, should not you?’ demanded Tristan.

  ‘I should indeed, but you are a man and wiser than I, and so you must bear the chief blame.’

  ‘I will bear it gladly, if you help me, Iseult; would you not help your brother?’

  ‘Not if he had brought the anger of my lord upon me,’ said Iseult; and all the while, she was aware to her fingertips of the listeners overhead in the pear tree, and she made a sob come into her voice – which indeed was not hard. ‘I have been sick at heart through your fault, for I cannot be happy while my lord looks at me coldly and with doubt in his eyes. Now, if you ever felt a brother’s fondness for me, go away, and leave me to win back my lord’s love as best I may.’

  And Tristan bent his head as though in defeat. ‘If you will not help me, then you will not, and I will never be asking you anything again. Go home now, and a good night to you, Iseult.’

  And Iseult turned and walked away down the stream-side; while Tristan stood and watched her go, and heard again the faint rustl
ing in the tree above him, that was not the wind. And then he turned and walked away also, with his head on his breast. There was a sickness in his belly and a foul taste in his mouth, and he hated Iseult in that moment, almost as much as he hated himself.

  Then among the branches of the pear tree King Marc drew his dagger and turned upon the dwarf beside him. But the dwarf saw the silver flash of the blade in the moonlight, and dropped from the branch and ran, doubling and twisting like a hare, and was away into the woods before the King could catch him.

  And the stream ran on, quietly under the moon.

  Next morning, King Marc went to the Queen in her bower, and told her how he had been hiding in the tree, and had heard all that passed between her and Tristan the night before, and begged her to forgive him, and make peace again between him and Tristan.

  But Iseult knew that she must not seem too eager. ‘Truly I am thankful that the shadow between us is past,’ she said. ‘But it was through Tristan that your anger first fell upon me, and if you bring him back to Court, can I be sure that the thing will not happen again?’

  ‘Sweet,’ said the King, ‘I have begged your forgiveness for doubting you; be generous to both of us, and I will never doubt you or him again.’

  So Tristan returned to Court. And for a while, all was as it had been in the early days between himself and King Marc and Iseult the Queen.

  9

  The Leper’s Cloak

  AGAIN THE SUMMER turned to autumn, and the winter passed, and the gorse flamed along the headlands. And the love between Tristan and Iseult would not let them be, dragging at them as the moon draws the tides to follow after it, until at last, whether they would or no, they came together again.

  And all the while Andret watched.

  One night on the edge of summer the Queen went early to her bower, saying that her head ached for there was thunder in the air, and she would be alone. And soon after, Andret saw that Tristan’s place in the King’s Hall was empty, and he, too, rose and slipped out, following the champion of Cornwall.

  He knew that it would be useless to go himself to the King, for Marc would not believe any word he said, but there were others about the Court who would carry a message for a gold piece slipped into the hand; and so later still, one of the castle servants came to the King with word that the Queen begged him to go to her instantly in her bower.

  And when he came striding into the bower, brushing aside Brangian who tried to hold him back, he found Tristan there, with the Queen in his arms.

  Then the King’s wrath was terrible, all the more terrible because of the love he had for his queen and his kinsman, and he waited to hear no more excuses, but shouted up the guard. They came bursting in as Tristan snatched up his sword. He fought like a wild boar at bay, but he was one blade against many, and he was beaten back to the wall, and made captive and dragged away. And all the while Iseult crouched beside the hearth as still as though she had been turned to stone. And the King never once looked her way. Only when all was over, and she rushed to the door, she found her way barred by crossed spears.

  Next day, Tristan and Iseult were brought before a council of the chiefs and the churchmen and the lawmakers of Cornwall, to be tried for their betrayal of the King. They made no defence, for they would no longer make their love for each other seem smaller and less worthy by denying it. And they were found guilty and condemned to die; Iseult by fire, which by the law of the land was the proper punishment for a queen who had betrayed her lord; Tristan by being broken over a great wheel.

  In the time before the day appointed for their deaths, only one of the King’s lords dared to speak to Marc at all, let alone plead for mercy for them; and that one was Dynas the High Steward.

  ‘This is surely a cruel thing that you do,’ said Dynas, and knew that he took his own life in his hands by saying it. ‘And the cruelty is against yourself as well as the Queen and the Lord Tristan; for in slaying them, I know well enough that you slay the two who are dearest to you on earth.’

  ‘You were never a man to care much for danger,’ said the King, ‘but you were never in greater danger than you are now.’ And he spoke between shut teeth, like a man speaking through the pain of a spear wound.

  ‘I do not think so,’ said Dynas. ‘For you are a just man, and to slay me for speaking the truth would be unjust – even more unjust than to slay those two. My Lord King, neither man nor woman can choose who their love goes out to; and death is too great a price to demand, and cannot bring love back to you. Banish Tristan from Cornwall – I will take it upon my own honour to see that he does not return – and take the Queen once more into your life; use her gently, and it may be that she will turn to you yet.’

  ‘No,’ said the King, ‘I will make an end.’

  By dawn on the appointed day, all the preparations had been made. People had been summoned from far and wide to witness the deaths of Tristan and the Queen. And great was the grief, and loud the wailing of the women; for Tristan was dear to all the ordinary folk of Cornwall, their champion and their hope; and Iseult had made herself beloved in her husband’s kingdom as she had been in her father’s.

  Tristan was to die in the morning, and Iseult after noon; and so he was led out first by the men of the King’s bodyguard. Now the chosen place of execution was some distance from the castle; and on the way to it they passed a little chapel, set high on the very lip of the cliffs above the sea; and when they came close to it, Tristan said to the Captain of the Guard, ‘The sun is scarce yet clear of the hills, and we have time to spare on this walk that we are taking. And indeed you thrust me forth this morning so early that I have had no time to make my peace with God, as I have sore need to be making it. Therefore give me leave to go in yonder and pray.’

  The Captain of the Guard considered a moment, and then he shrugged. ‘There’s no harm, that I can see. But I and another of us will come in with you.’

  ‘What I have to say is for God’s ear, not for yours,’ said Tristan. And then, as the man hesitated, he added, half-smiling, ‘Are you afraid that I shall escape you? I know that chapel as well as you do. There is but one narrow door to it, and one small high window above a sheer drop to the sea. I’d as soon be broken on the wheel as on the black rocks down yonder.’

  And they knew that it was true as to the door and the window, and so they let him go into the little chapel alone and close the door behind him. ‘It is but common charity to allow him – and he about to die,’ they said among themselves.

  But as soon as the door was shut behind him, Tristan shot the bolt, taking care to make no sound that could be heard from outside. Then he crossed to the window that showed a tiny square of blank blue above the altar. He reached up and caught the sill and pulled himself up to it. He got his head and shoulders through, then a knee. Below him, far, far below, a sea as blue as a kingfisher’s mantle creamed upon fanged black rocks; and a gull skimmed the chapel wall, almost brushing his face with its wings. He thrust himself further out, reached for a stone that gave a handhold above the window, and drew the other leg under him. The gulls wove their white curves of flight across the face of the cliffs below him; the jump would have been death to any other man, but Tristan had learned well from his masters in his Lothian boyhood, and had not forgotten how to make the Hero Leap. He filled himself with air until he felt as light as the wheeling seabirds, and drew himself together and sprang out and down.

  He took the sea like a down-flung javelin, and the water closed over his head; but he leapt up again into the light, and the next wave gathered him and flung him shoreward. He clung to a rock, and between wave and wave, pulled himself ashore. And keeping close in under the cliffs, he made his way along to a place where he could regain the cliff top well out of sight from the chapel and the King’s warriors watching at its door. Then he set off back towards Tintagel.

  He had not gone far when rounding a bend in the track where it circled a tump of wind-shaped hawthorns, he came face to face with Gorvenal!

&
nbsp; They made no outcry of greeting; but Gorvenal stood stock still and the colour drained from his face till he was white to the lips. And seeing his look, Tristan said ‘Och, no! It is I, not my seadripping ghost – it was to be the wheel, not drowning for me, remember?’

  But even as he spoke, Gorvenal flung his arms round him, and hugged him fiercely close, then held him off at arms’ length to look at him. ‘Swift now, is the hunt behind you?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Tristan said, ‘I will tell you all the story later, there is no time now.’

  ‘There’s not indeed,’ said Gorvenal, ‘for the sooner we are many miles from here, the better. See, here are your sword and your harp. I would not be spending one night more in Tintagel, and I would not be leaving them behind me.’ And from under his cloak he pulled out the embroidered harp-bag that he had slung across his shoulder, and Tristan’s beloved sword with the notched blade.

  Tristan took the sword from him and belted it on. ‘Was there ever a time when I could not count on Gorvenal in my need? I shall have need of this. Let you keep my harp for me, until maybe I have a need for that also.’

  And he set his hand an instant on Gorvenal’s shoulder, and then walked on, the way that he had been going.

  Gorvenal swung round and went after him. ‘Are you mad? This is the way back to Tintagel.’

  ‘I am knowing that well enough. Could I make my escape and leave Iseult to die in the flames? I must save her today, or die with her; there is no other way for me. But the hazard is mine and none of yours. Go your way, brother, with my thanks for bringing me my sword.’

  ‘As to that, I have my own sword also, and two blades are better than one,’ said Gorvenal. ‘And if you are for Tintagel again, then so am I.’