Tristan and Isolde - 03 - The Lady of the Sea

by Rosalind Miles

  “Grief upon me!” he gasped. “Grief upon all of us.” He raised his eyes to the brilliant sky. “Spare Tristan!” he implored. “Spare both of them.”

  “Merlin, Merlin, news—!”

  There was an angry clacking from above. Hopping about on a branch overhead were four magpies, flashing their blue-black wings and chattering to themselves.

  “Oh, so? What news?”

  Merlin cocked a cold and weary eye. How little enthusiasm he had for these vain and noisy gossips of the wood! But even a fool said a wise thing sometimes. “Speak,” he said.

  “Isolde was seen leaving Dubh Lein—” began one.

  “—for Cornwall,” the second burst in self-importantly, like a child. “For Castle Dore—”

  “No, no!” screeched the third. “She went to seek Tristan in the wood! In the wood! In the wood!”

  They squabbled on. Merlin looked at his fingertips and toyed with the idea of blasting them all with blue fire. But as the tale unfolded, his ears began to twitch. The woodman had betrayed the lovers to Mark. The King was calling up his knights and dogs to hunt them down.

  “Is it so?”

  Well, then, so much for Tristan.

  Isolde, too.

  He lifted his eyes to the black mountains ahead and the tears flowed again. “And may the Mother take care of them now, for I cannot!”

  “ARE THE DOGS READY?”

  One look at King Mark’s livid face made Andred speak as calmly as he could. “Very nearly, sire.”

  Mark looked around the stable yard with undisguised rage. All around him his knights were fighting to hold down their horses, and he could hear the dogs baying madly from their kennels behind the stable wall. The scent of a manhunt was in the air, and every creature had picked up the bloodlust of the mounted men. He glowered at Andred.

  “Then tell me why the dogs aren’t here.”

  Andred paused for thought. Because the kennel master had no idea that you would burst from the Audience Chamber and demand the hounds right now, he wanted to say. Because it’s noon, the hour when the creatures get fed. And because everything seems too slow to a man out for revenge.

  “I’ll go and find out, my lord,” he said.

  Mark watched the retreating figure with a sudden hot spurt of mistrust. Was Andred betraying him, just as Tristan had? Were they both working together against him? No, that was ridiculous. But why else was Andred delaying the dogs like this?

  His horse tossed its head, impatient to be off, and he jabbed it savagely in the mouth. “Stand still, stand!” he snarled.

  “Sire, a word?”

  Pulling his horse’s head around, Mark saw Sir Nabon approaching with a heavy frown. Jesus and Mary, what did the old fool want? It was bad enough to endure him speaking his fill in the council chamber. No reason to put up with his sermonizing now.

  “Later,” he called, and turned his horse away.

  But Sir Nabon moved deliberately to block the horse’s path.

  “Now, sire, if you please, before you do this thing,” he said trenchantly. “Your Queen and Sir Tristan are not animals to be hunted down. I beg you, my lord, give up this unworthy chase.”

  “Unworthy?” Mark gasped in sarcastic disbelief. “And they’re not animals, you say? What d’you call it, then, rutting like beasts in the wood?”

  Nabon’s face tightened, and he fought down the impulse to reach for his sword. He would have killed another man who spoke so grossly of the Queen. But this was the King.

  “For the sake of the country, I must ask you to think again,” he said as forcefully as he dared. “The word of the forester does not mean that the Queen and Sir Tristan are guilty of adultery.”

  Mark’s eyes bulged. “What else does it mean?”

  “There is no proof.”

  “For God’s sake, man, they’ve been alone together for weeks in the wood. What more proof d’you want?”

  “They could still be chaste. They could have lain apart.”

  What was old Nabon saying? Approaching from behind, Andred caught the tail end of the councillor’s speech and increased his pace. Isolde and Tristan chaste? What nonsense was this?

  And worse, was Mark wavering in his revenge?

  Composing his face into an air of concern, Andred hurried up.

  “Indeed, sire, they could have been chaste,” he intervened. “The wise man never leaps to conclusions, as Lord Nabon says. But if they were loyal to you, why did they stay away from court for so long? What have they been doing all this time in the wood?”

  He was relieved to see the thunder and lightning return to Mark’s clouded face. He bowed politely to Sir Nabon and pressed on. “They could be plotting together against the King. Even if they’re not lovers, as you say, they could be traitors to the King and the country, too.”

  Mark’s stubby finger jabbed accusingly at Sir Nabon. “Well, Nabon. What d’you say to that?”

  Andred slipped in again smoothly before Nabon could reply. “If they were innocent, what do they have to hide? Why not simply return straightaway to King Mark, the Queen’s loving husband and Sir Tristan’s generous lord?”

  Nabon could have answered that twenty times over, but he dared not speak. He was no match for Andred’s snake-like intelligence and silver tongue.

  A new edge had crept into Andred’s voice. “And besides,” he insinuated, frowning thoughtfully at Mark. “You’ll remember, sire, that they’ve ignored you before. This isn’t the first time that Sir Tristan has chosen to follow the Queen instead of you, or that the Queen has followed her own desires.”

  “Desires?” Mark spat out.

  Good, good! Andred thrilled at his own cleverness. Every word he said was feeding Mark’s fury and his hunger for revenge. And now see what was coming from behind . . .

  Andred fervently thanked his Gods. If this did not inflame his uncle’s rage, nothing would. With luck, Tristan would not get out of the forest alive.

  “Hear us, sire!”

  Eripe me, Domine . . .

  Deliver me, O Lord, from the evil man, Dom Arraganzo prayed vigorously as he strode along. What, Mark thought he could send the Princesses back to Dun Haven after all the work that Arraganzo and Dominian had done? He thrust his elegant nose high in the air. He would not flinch from the damage to his kidskin boots plowing over these cobbles and dodging the reeking droppings as the horses pranced about. If this royal sinner was thwarting God’s holy plan, then it was surely time to intervene.

  Oh, so? The Cardinal Prelate bearing down on him, and Father Dominian hobbling along, too? Struggling, Mark held down a yelp of rage. He thought he’d got rid of these two when he sent the Christian Princesses back home. Where would it end?

  “Sire, I have just left two young women deep in grief,” Arraganzo fumed. “They say you plan to cancel their wardship and return them to Dun Haven at once. I have come in all haste to put an end to this.”

  Mark reached for an iron-hard smile. “Sadly, it’s true.”

  Arraganzo stared him in the eye. “Then I must ask you to reconsider, my lord. This must not be.”

  Must, must not . . .

  Mark was in no mood for this. “I am King here, sir, remember?”

  Arraganzo reached for a flattering smile. “And a king has obligations. He leads his people by gracious and kingly behavior, as you do, sire. It is for this that the Princesses love and admire you so much.”

  Mark’s vanity was tweaked. “They love me, eh?”

  “Both of them,” said the Cardinal firmly. “Especially Theodora, who told me of her love for you in tears.”

  “Theodora?” Mark was instantly suspicious again. “She’s the one who started dictating what I could and couldn’t do.”

  Dominian stepped forward. “This is why God has given husbands the right to control their wives. When you marry her, she is yours to rule and to chastise till she learns your will.”

  “You hear your Father confessor?” Arraganzo declaimed. “You only need to learn
how to tame your wife.” Without warning, he dropped the flattering smile and fixed Mark with an eye of stone. “And you may not decide for yourself that the maidens go back. It is utterly against the will of God.”

  Dominian supported Arraganzo with his coal-black eyes on fire. “The Almighty Father in his loving kindness wants you to have a pure and gentle Christian wife.”

  “And now you may make a marriage with a girl you desire,” Arraganzo sailed on.

  “And one who desires you, Uncle,” Andred followed with a slight but suggestive leer.

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, was there no respite? When would Andred, Arraganzo, and Dominian hold their peace? Mark heard their voices buzzing like hornets and gadflies in his fevered head and felt that one or other of them would sting him to death. His father’s voice reached him from a lifetime away.

  “You’ll never hold onto the throne, boy, you’re weak through and through. Any fool will always be able to tell you what to do.”

  Mark’s lips parted in a ghastly grin. And did you still think that, Father, when I let you die? When you were wounded in the forest and I refused to go for help, no matter how much you shouted and threatened me? You were very intent then on telling me what to do. But I proved to you then that I had a will of my own. How surprised you were!

  He laughed for pure joy at the thought of his father’s death. And then I became King. His chest swelled. So I’ve earned the right to do what a king has to do. He lifted his head, reveling in the access of power.

  “All in good time, Lord Arraganzo. Today I have a quarry to hunt down.” He raised his arm. “Mount up, men!” he snarled.

  There was a commotion in the yard as the dogs came flooding in, a tide of barking, yelping, heaving brown and white. Andred turned to the nearest groom and signaled for his horse.

  “Sire?”

  There was a faint cry from the castle walls. A moment later, a man-at-arms came clattering down from the battlements.

  “Word from the lookout, sire,” he panted. “The Queen and Sir Tristan have been sighted. They’re riding in.”

  chapter 38

  Castle Dore.

  Isolde sat heavily on her horse with Tristan at her side and shivered at the sight of the white walls and graceful towers, bright with the banners of Cornwall fluttering in the sun. What had brought them here?

  Grimly, she searched her soul, wondering if this could be right. In truth, all she wanted was to be back with Tristan, roaming in the wood. Yet here he was, too, white-faced and watchful as they rode up to the castle and in through the massive gates. The sun smiled down from a sky as clear as glass on a day that would normally have set the blood coursing through their veins. But all she could feel was the shadow over their lives.

  It had all seemed so simple before. Of course they should go back to Ireland, not to Castle Dore. Mark was not to be trusted, they knew that by now. And what did they owe him more than they had already done?

  But that was the question that continued to haunt Tristan.

  “If I want to quit Mark’s service with honor,” he brooded, “I should kneel before him, beg his permission to leave, and kiss his hands in farewell.”

  Isolde laughed harshly. “You know what Mark thinks about honor. Will he let you go?”

  “I don’t know,” Tristan admitted. “But the laws of chivalry say that no knight can be forced to serve against his will. If Mark refuses, I can take my sword, my shield, and my horse and ride away to find another lord.” He gave a lopsided grin that pierced her soul. “Or a lady, like the one I found so long ago. One word from Mark, and I can follow the love of my life.”

  “Oh Tristan . . .”

  They kissed as if it was the first time their lips had met. At last, she hesitatingly resumed. “But can we risk it? Your life may be at stake.”

  “I have to try. Only then can I call myself free.”

  Erin is free.

  She could hear Ireland calling with a passion that tore her in two. In Ireland, we would be free. But unless things were settled with Mark, would they ever be safe?

  “If we go back to Ireland together, Mark will be publicly shamed. And if his pride has been hurt, he’ll have to seek revenge,” Isolde said slowly.

  Tristan sighed. “Lady, I think we have to go back to Castle Dore. Let’s make a clean and honorable break with the past, then afterward we can live as we want.”

  Isolde fought down her misgivings. “Well, then, let’s do it. We’ll ride in together, and then we shall be free.”

  Free of Mark . . .

  She hardly dared think it. After almost twenty years, could it ever come true?

  The courtyard ahead of them was seething with life. Forty or fifty men were mounting up while a pack of hounds raced round the cobbled square. At the center of the whirlwind were Mark and Andred, both mounted on the strongest chargers Castle Dore could provide.

  Tristan drew in his breath. “They’re going out on the hunt.”

  “To hunt us?” Isolde turned pale.

  “Who else?”

  Then he’s already decided to kill us.

  She pulled her horse’s head around. “Run for it, Tristan!”

  “Isolde!” Mark hailed her loudly from the center of the throng, carving his way toward them with Andred at his side. “Welcome, Isolde. And Tristan, greetings to you.”

  “Greetings, my lord.” Isolde tried to smile.

  Mark gave a glittering smile. God Almighty, Isolde was a fine woman, even though she was looking so pale and breathless now. But how dare she ride back in like this, as if nothing had happened?

  “We had heard you were lodging in the wood,” he said. He waved a gauntleted hand at the baying hounds. “We were on our way to look for you.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Mark caught the Cardinal Legate and Father Dominian staring in stark disbelief, and his shriveled heart soared. How wonderful to make those pompous religious asses goggle and glare!

  He pointed to the two clerics. “They thought you had fled the country,” he caroled. “While all the time—”

  Isolde bit her lip. “Sire, let me explain—”

  “Later, later.” Mark brushed her aside. She’d speak when he was ready and not before. “Tonight I shall feast you as the Queen deserves. The Pope’s emissary has been longing to make your acquaintance, haven’t you, sir?’

  Arraganzo bowed toward Isolde with a tortured smile. “As you say, sire.”

  I’ll feast her and find out what she’s up to, ran through Mark’s fevered brain. Tristan, too. What are they doing here? Does Isolde expect to come back to me as my wife? If she does, I should force her to follow it through. A wild thought struck him. Why, I could still get her with child before the year is out. That would show all the world who ruled here as King!

  “A feast, a feast!” he brayed. He threw up an arm, and called the chamberlain to his side. “Make the Great Hall ready for the finest feast tonight. The King will honor his returning Queen!”

  The courtyard erupted in a mighty roar of whistles and cheers as the knights showed their approval of the revelry to come. Mark’s mean heart swelled. He looked at the downcast Isolde, and malice filled his soul. By heaven, I’ve got the whip hand over her now. And she’s still my wife. She’s made me look a fool, and she’ll pay for that. If I ply her with drink, I can take her tonight. Dominian is right, I’ve waited far too long.

  In the hubbub, he found Arraganzo by his side. He was pleased to see the Cardinal looking yellow and jaundiced with rage.

  “And what of your wards, sire, the Princesses of Dun Haven?” the Legate forced out. “The girls who so tenderly hoped to marry you?”

  “Oh, they can stay here at Castle Dore, never fear. Leave them to me, and you’ll find they’ll be in good hands,” Mark said truculently.

  His soul soared. Now that Isolde had returned, he could do anything. If she was ready to obey him now as his wife, he’d have her as his Queen and the mother of his heir, and keep the two girls as well. They c
ould enliven the times when there was no hunting and life at court grew dull. His grin broadened. It was the best of both worlds, and just what he deserved.

  “See, nephew, see?” he hissed into Andred’s ear. “You thought Isolde and Tristan were traitors. But here they are, both of them, just as I ordered. The Queen has come back to fulfill her marriage vows to me.”

  “As you say, sir.” Andred bowed his head.

  Mark’s mood swung upward like a weather vane. Already he could see himself presiding at the feast, a goblet in his hand, the thick red wine running into his veins like blood and the pleasure of forcing himself on Isolde to come. It was time for her to be a wife to him, whether she wanted it or not. Tonight he would make the baby his barons desired.

  He snorted with mirth. He’d get his revenge on Isolde, and at the same time Nabon and the others would be silenced, too. Better and better, the best! For one long, lovely moment Mark had the world at his feet, a new world of power, fulfillment, and control.

  But the voice at his elbow put an end to all his dreams. “No feast for us, sire, I beg.”

  He turned to look at Isolde. Never had she looked so pale and cold. “I must talk to you now, indoors,” she said through icy lips.

  “What, now?”

  “Alas, yes.”

  Why alas? Brooding, Mark dismounted and led the way indoors. Surely Isolde wouldn’t try to thwart him as soon as she was back? He strode into the nearest chamber and turned to face her, with Dominian and Andred at his side.

  Across the room a solitary fly was beating against the window, trapped inside the panes of greenish glass. Mark tugged at his collar. God, it was stuffy in here. He stood shaking his head and pulling at his ear, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. What was Isolde saying? And could she possibly mean what she said?

  ‘Sir, I’ve come to give you your freedom and to claim my own. Then I mean to return to Ireland and resume my throne.”

  “What nonsense is this?” Mark gave a blustering guffaw. “You’re not free, Isolde, you’re my wife, and the time has come for you to be a wife indeed.”

  Gaping, she saw the lascivious light in his eye. “Wife . . . to you?” she stammered.