Cornwall's Wonderland Part 17

At last one day there arrived at the castle a knight from King Arthur's court at Camelot; and of him Sir Tristram asked, "Say they aught of me at court?"

"Truly," answered the knight, "they speak of you with shame, for Sir Launcelot says you are a false knight to your lady, and his love for you is dead, so that he longs to meet with you that he may joust with you."

Sore troubled indeed was Sir Tristram at this, for he loved Sir Launcelot, and coveted his respect, and to be deemed traitor to the lady for whom he would have laid down his life, hurt him most of all.

From that time his longing to return to Tintagel and his love for La Belle Iseult grew daily more and more unconquerable, until at last he could no longer bear it, and one day set sail from Brittany, leaving his poor little lonely wife behind to mourn his absence, and yearn for his return; for as yet she had not found out that there was no love at all in his heart for her.

But on a day soon after he had left her there was brought to her the story of his love for that other Iseult, and of hers for him. Then was the young wife filled with shame that ever she had showed her love for him, and jealousy raged in her, turning her love to bitter hate, and her heart hardened so that night and day she longed to be revenged.

Thus a whole year pa.s.sed away, and Tristram and Queen Iseult loved each other as dearly as ever; but King Mark in his jealous anger kept them so watched that they could never see or speak one to the other, and they had no peace or joy in life, until at last they could bear the pain no longer, and one day they managed to escape together and to reach the Castle of Joyous Gard, where the king had no power to reach them, even had he known where they were hid. Of their love and happiness there no tongue can tell, and of the peace and joy of their life, for they loved each other above all else, and when they were together nothing had power to pain them.

But at last, on a sad, sad day, the trusty Gouvernail came to Sir Tristram with word that a summons had been sent him from King Arthur, to go to the aid of Sir Triamour of Wales, for he was sore beset by a monster named Urgan, and needed help.

Sir Tristram could in no wise, of course, neglect this summons, for that would have been the direst disgrace to him, and never more in all his life would he have been able to show himself anywhere but as a treacherous and loathly knight, and, though it broke his heart to send her from him, La Belle Iseult loved him too well to have him so disgrace himself.

So they parted; and a sadder parting never had been in this world, for they knew with a sure and certain knowledge that never again would they be allowed to meet; and their hearts were full of a love and sorrow almost too great to be borne. With tears and kisses they said farewell, vowing each to be true to the other till death, and after.

So Sir Tristram rode away into Wales, and Queen Iseult being discovered by King Mark, was made to return to him, only to be made a prisoner in the great grim castle at Tintagel, where all day long she sat sad and lonely, looking out over the sea, and musing sadly on all the bitterness life had held for her and for her lover. And her husband, jealous, wrathful, never slackened his watch over her, night or day.

A harder lot was Iseult's than her lover's, for he had change and action to distract his thoughts, and all the excitement of battle; but she had nothing to do but sit and think on all that might have been, until her heart was near to breaking.

Meanwhile, Sir Tristram arrived in Wales and met the monster Urgan, a huge, hideous creature with no notion of fighting, or chivalry, for the moment he beheld Sir Tristram, he rushed upon him, and would have dashed him to the ground, but that Sir Tristram by good hap saw what was coming, and swerved aside so that the blow fell harmless. And while the giant roared with rage and mortification, and tried to recover his balance, Sir Tristram swiftly drew his sword, and swinging it lightly round his head, cut the monster's right hand clean off at the wrist with one sharp stroke.

Maddened by the pain, Urgan fumbled with his left hand until he drew from his belt a short steel dagger which had been tempered with sorcery, and springing on Sir Tristram they closed together, and long and fiercely they fought until the cliffs trembled with the struggle, and the ground was sodden with blood.

Great ado had Sir Tristram to avoid the huge bulk of the giant, and greater and greater grew the strain upon his strength, until a blow from him sent the giant rolling over in the gory mud. He was soon on his feet again, but the moment had given Sir Tristram time to get his breath.

Then they closed again, and the blows fell faster and more furiously than ever. The giant's groans of rage and excitement might have been heard for miles around, while the earth flew about them until they could scarce be seen. Between every joint of their corslets the blood ran down in streams, but the sight only infuriated them the more.

At last, with a fierce roar between bitter laughter and pain, Urgan smote Sir Tristram with such fury that he cracked his shield in half, and then before Sir Tristram could recover himself he smote him again so that he would have killed him had not the blow by great good chance turned aside.

But, turning aside as it did, it gave Sir Tristram the chance he coveted, and rushing in on the giant before he had recovered his foothold, he smote him with such force and skill that he cleft him clean through; and in his agony Urgan leapt so high in the air that he fell back over the edge of the cliff, and dropped heavily into the sea.

His task accomplished, Sir Tristram got into his ship again and sailed away, and as he pa.s.sed Tintagel, where his unhappy love lay a prisoner in the castle, his heart felt like to break; and his yearning for her was so great, it seemed as though it must bring her to him in spite of her jailers.

But they were parted, those two, by a fate as strong as death. And she lay immured in her castle home, while he sailed on and on, not heeding nor caring whither he went, for all that he loved dwelt on that bleak iron-bound coast, as far from him as though the whole wide world lay between them.

And so at last, not heeding whither he sailed, he came to that sunny land where his wife Iseult dwelt, praying always for revenge because she had been scorned by him. On the coast at Brittany he landed, close by his own castle, but no sooner had he stepped ash.o.r.e than he was met by a knight who knelt before him and besought his aid.

"n.o.ble sir," cried he, "I am in sore distress. Some robbers, who infest this land like a scourge, met me as I was riding along with my new-made bride, and I being alone and single-handed, they quickly mastered me, and binding me, carried my bride away. And how to rescue her I know not.

Come to my aid, sir, I beseech you, for you look a n.o.ble and trusty knight."

Sir Tristram, glad to have some distraction from his sorrow, was only too ready to help others who suffered for love's sake. So to Iseult he sent a message to say he had arrived, and would have been with her but for the quest, which he was bound to accomplish for his honour's sake, and for the sake of his knighthood. Then he departed, and he and the knight rode along the seash.o.r.e in search of the robbers.

All night they slept in the wood by the sea, but as soon as morning broke there sounded close at hand a great trampling of horses and clanking of arms, and soon came along the robber band, with the pale-faced, terrified lady in their midst, fastened to one of the robbers.

At this sight the hapless young husband could no longer restrain himself.

With a fierce cry he flew at the man to whom his bride was bound, while Sir Tristram, cool and strong, closed with the band and slew three before they had tried to defend themselves. And so the unequal battle began, and so it raged; but with so much courage and fierceness did the two knights fight for their just cause, that soon nearly all the robber band lay lifeless on the ground.

The young knight, though, was himself by that time wounded by the last remaining of the band, and ill would it have gone with him, for the reeking sword was raised high to give him the final blow, when Sir Tristram with a cry of triumph rushed in and clove the man so that he never breathed again.

Thus was all accomplished, and gladly was Sir Tristram returning on his homeward way, when one of the robbers who had made his escape and lay concealed, shot at Sir Tristram from his hiding-place, and the arrow pierced Sir Tristram in that same wound whereof he had nearly died before he went to Ireland, and La Belle Iseult cured him. And now he felt like to die again.

Scarcely could he stagger home through the long miles of that rugged forest by the sea; his eyes were faint and blinded, his legs shook under him. Parched, trembling, well-nigh dead, he reached at last his castle gates, but there his strength failed him, and with a terrible cry he fell prostrate on the ground.

At the sound forth came soldiers and servants, and strong men lifted him in kindly arms and laid him gently on a bed, calling aloud for someone to come and dress his wound.

Over by the window of the big hall sat Iseult la Blanche Mains, gazing with stony, unseeing eyes out over the golden sea, paying no heed to the noise and bustle going on about her. She had recognized that cry of pain at the gate, and knew her husband had returned sore stricken, but never, never once did she turn her head to look at him, nor move to give him comfort or a.s.sistance. And Tristram, ill though he was, felt the change in her manner to him, and grieved in his heart that all was not as it should have been, for he could not bear to cause pain to any woman.

As soon as he could speak he called to her, humbly, "Iseult, my wife!"

At that she rose and went to him, but sullenly, and stood looking at him as though he were a stranger.

"Kiss me," he whispered, and at his bidding she stooped and kissed him, but it was as though an icicle had brushed his cheek, and a black cloud of misery settled down upon him, and despairing longing for her who would have been so gentle and kind to him; and towards his wife his heart hardened.

And she, poor little Iseult, her heart aching sorely with love and jealousy and bitter pain, returned to her seat, and no movement did she make to heal her lord of his wound, though she alone could do so. But in her heart she had vowed that she would not give him health and life only that he might leave her again to go to that other Iseult. So, stern and cold she sat by the window looking out upon the sea, and never spake one gentle word, or tried to win his love.

And thus three days and nights pa.s.sed by, and ever the husband and wife drifted more and more apart. Sir Tristram's wound refused to heal, his strength failed him more and more, but still his wife made no attempt to save him.

At last there came a day when Sir Tristram could no longer endure his lonely, loveless life, or his pain of mind and body, with never a kindly word or deed to comfort him. This hard, reproachful woman tortured him hour by hour with her sullen face and hard eyes, her cruel, cold indifference. And his love for that other Iseult, so tender, and true, and loving, burnt like fire in his veins and consumed him. So calling to him Ganhardine, his wife's brother, who loved him greatly, he bade him, by the love they bore each other, to take his ship 'The Swan,' and with all speed sail in her to England; and there to land at Tintagel, and by fair means or foul to convey to Queen Iseult the ring which he there gave him.

To tell her, too, how that he, Sir Tristram, was like to die, but could not die in peace till he had seen her face once more.

"Then if it be that she comes, hoist a white sail that I may know my love still loves me, and is on her way. If not, then let the sail be black, that I may know, and die."

And Iseult of the White Hands heard each word he spake, and never a word she said; but her rage and jealousy well-nigh consumed her.

So Sir Ganhardine left upon his errand, and sailed for Tintagel in 'The Swan,' and the journey did not take him long, for the ship flew through the waters like a real bird, as though she knew she was bound on her master's errand, and that his life depended on her swiftness.

Dark it was when Ganhardine arrived, for it was winter-time, when storms rage full violent on that bleak coast. And at once he landed, and was made welcome by King Mark, for a stranger, and a n.o.ble one, was ever welcome in that lone country; and the king's heart never misgave him that this was a messenger from Sir Tristram.

Now it happened that Dame Bragwaine knew Sir Ganhardine, for they had been lovers in days gone by, and more than glad they were to see each other again. So with Bragwaine's gladly given help, Ganhardine conveyed Sir Tristram's ring to Queen Iseult in a cup of wine, so that when the queen drank, there at the bottom of the cup lay Sir Tristram's ring, one that she had given him long ago. And there she saw it, and her pale sad face lit up with such a wondrous joy that she had some ado to conceal her emotion from the king and those around her who were ever keeping her watched.

Deftly, though, she slipped the ring out of her mouth, and deftly she presently managed to slip it into her bosom, marvelling much the while whence and how it came, and why. And her anxiety and longing nigh drove her beside herself. For until all the inmates of the castle had retired to rest, naught could she learn of the mystery, or of the stranger who had come to the castle. But once within her own apartments, where she was no longer watched and guarded as of yore, she quickly, at Dame Bragwaine's bidding, m.u.f.fled herself to the eyes, and creeping softly down a flight of secret stairs, she got out of the castle by a private pa.s.sage-way and reached the spot where 'The Swan' lay moored, and where Sir Ganhardine awaited her with his message and his sad story.

When she heard tell of Sir Tristram's sad plight, and how that he was like to die, but could not die in peace till he had once more beheld her, there was no need to plead with her to leave all and go to him. Almost before the tale was told her she had stepped on board the ship, and without one glance behind her or one regret she set sail upon the stormy wintry sea to go to her true love, as fast as the faithful 'Swan' could carry her.

And in her joy that once again she should be with him, once again she should see him, she almost forgot his sore plight, for hard it was for her to believe that Sir Tristram could be like to die.

Meanwhile death was drawing nearer and nearer to Sir Tristram.

His restlessness aggravated his wound, his anxious, tortured mind increased his fever, so that truly he was like to die at any moment.

And all the time, a little way from him sat White-handed Iseult, pale and cold without, the better to bide the burning rage within.

"Iseult! Iseult!" cried the sick man in his sleep.

"I am here. What would you?" she answered coldly, and he opened his eyes with a half-doubting joy in them; but his heart sank like lead, and all the joy died out of him, for the voice was not the voice of his love, nor the face her face, and sore wearily he sighed, and turned his face away.

"I wronged you past all forgiveness when I married you," he said, "for my heart had long been given to La Belle Iseult, whose sworn knight I was; but I did love you, I thought I could make you happy. Have you no pity?

Can you feel no mercy for me now?" he cried piteously.

"I feel nothing," she answered bitterly; "between you, you have killed my heart, and all that was good in me."

So his heart yearned all the more for the gentler, more tender Iseult.

Wearily he moved in his bed and watched for the first gleam of daylight.