Tristan and Iseult Page 4

  But it chanced that at that moment Brangian, who had wandered a little apart from them, glanced over towards the stream, and the morning sun, striking where it had not struck last evening, showed her a glint of bronze under the blackened alder branches. She called, ‘There is something – it looks like a helmet – over yonder in the stream.’ And Perenis and the Princess came running, and so all together they came down through the rocks and the alder and hazel scrub, and found Tristan lying in the water where he had lain for nearly a night and a day.

  At first they thought him dead; but when they had dragged him up the bank and taken off his helmet, Iseult saw that he yet lived. ‘Quick!’ she said. ‘Help me to unlace his mail and strip it off him, that we may see the wounds he has.’ And when they did so, they found him clawed as though he had been battling with a giant cat, and sorely burned from head to heel. ‘But given care, there is no death wound here,’ said Iseult, and she looked at the tiny packet of crimson silk that hung about his neck, and said, ‘We will leave it there. Maybe it is a talisman, or a keepsake from a maiden.’ And she took up another thing that had been thrust inside his mail, and said, ‘And this, I am thinking, by the look and the smell of it, is the tongue of the dragon that lies dead yonder.’

  Brangian said, ‘Dear mistress, you will not go to your betrothal to the Steward tomorrow.’

  ‘Nor any day,’ said Iseult, ‘nor any day.’ And she put the wet dark hair back from Tristan’s bruised forehead and looked long into his closed face.

  Then she and Brangian helped Perenis to lift him on to one of the horses, and Perenis mounted behind him and carried him like a woman across his saddlebow. And so they brought him back to Wexford, and into the King’s house, by the side door from the orchard, no man knowing of it, and up to the women’s apartments, where they laid him on a bed, and the Princess began to tend his wounds as only she in all Ireland knew how.

  Soon, like a swimmer drifting up from the dark-most depths of the sea, Tristan became aware of light above him, and soft voices and movement, and hands that touched him; and he opened his eyes and came back into the world. The light swam like water, but through it he saw two women bending over him; and one had hair as black as the deepest moonless midnight; and the other had hair that glowed like hot copper, where the evening sunlight shone in upon it from an open window. And he thought, Now whoever she may be, this is the maiden I came seeking, for surely no other woman in all the countries of the world can have hair of just that colour. And he moved his hand upward and felt the little silken packet about his neck, in which the single hair was safely stowed. The red-haired maiden looked from tending his wounds, and said, ‘It is quite safe. And this also is safe, that we found stowed in the breast of your mail shirt.’ And she took up the silver bowl in which she had laid the forked tip of the dragon’s tongue.

  Tristan was so weak that his voice would barely come. But he managed to answer her. ‘It is well for me that you found and kept that wicked thing, for it is my only proof that it was I who slew the dragon.’

  ‘It was for that reason,’ said the Princess, ‘that I kept it with such care – and not for your sake, but for my own. My father, the King, has promised me in marriage to whoever can free Ireland of the monster, and his steward is claiming to be the dragon-slayer.’

  And then she knew what she had said, and flushed as deeply as a foxglove, and looked away.

  And Tristan said quickly, to cover her embarrassment, ‘So you are the Princess Iseult. I should have known, for I have heard that Iseult of Ireland is the most beautiful of all women – and the most skilled in the healer’s art.’

  ‘At this present time I am nothing but your most grateful handmaiden,’ said Iseult. ‘And now I have done tending your wounds, and you must drink some broth, and then you must sleep. And while you sleep, I will be your armour-bearer, and clean your harness and your sword.’

  Indeed, sleep was already coming upon Tristan, and when he had drunk the broth that she held to his lips, he lay back and let it take him. And the last thing he saw as he closed his eyes, as it had been the first thing he saw when he opened them, was Iseult’s face bending over him; but now the light had faded, and the red of her hair had grown dark as bramble stems when the sap rises in the spring.

  When he was asleep, the Princess and Brangian took his armour and weapons into another room, so as to work without disturbing him. And while Brangian began to burnish his helmet, Iseult took up his sword and drew it from its sheath. There was a small piece broken out of the blade midway down. ‘This sword has seen hard service,’ she said; and she held it to the torchlight to see more clearly. And as she looked, it seemed to her that the shape of the small jagged gap was familiar. She laid the sword on the table without a word, and went to a carved and painted chest in the corner of the room, and brought from it something small and wrapped in silk. Coming back to the table, she unwrapped the packet and took out the splinter of iron that she had removed from the Morholt’s skull.

  Very delicately, she held it to the gap in the sword blade – and it fitted perfectly!

  Across the table where it lay, she and Brangian looked at each other. And a cold and terrible change came over Iseult’s face. ‘It seems that the dragon-slayer is the slayer also of my kinsman, the Morholt,’ she said after a while. ‘And he is sick, and in my hands for killing or curing.’ And her eyes glittered like fire in ice.

  Brangian, who was gentlehearted, cried out against her, ‘No! Oh no, my mistress!’

  ‘Yes!’ said Iseult. ‘Fate has given him into my hands, that I may avenge Ireland’s champion.’

  ‘You cannot kill him! A man lying helpless at your mercy!’

  ‘I can,’ said Iseult, softly. ‘But I shall not need to, I have but to show this sword to my father the King.’

  ‘And destroy the dragon’s tongue! If this valiant warrior can prove that though he slew the Morholt he also slew the dragon, do you not think that the King must forgive him the one killing in return for the other?’ Brangian said. ‘And oh, my Lady Iseult, remember, he is all that stands between you and marriage with your father’s steward! Is vengeance for a kinsman so sweet to you that you will pay that price for it?’

  And Iseult was silent a long while, staring down at the sword on the table before her. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘There is nothing, neither hate nor love nor life itself that I would pay that price for.’ And she began to laugh, shaking out her hair in a cloud of dark flame round her head.

  So later that night she went to the King her father, and told him that the Steward was a liar and a cheat, striving to steal another man’s glory and another man’s reward; and that she had found the true dragon-slayer.

  ‘As to that,’ said the King when he had heard her out, ‘here are two men both claiming the same kill, and who shall say which of them speaks truth? Their claims must be tried against each other; and I can give you no promise, Iseult my daughter, until that is done.’

  ‘Then let the trial be set for three days’ time,’ said Iseult. ‘The man I found is sore hurt by the dragon’s claws and its fiery breath. And it will be three days before all my skill can make him ready to stand before the Assembly and speak for himself. But in three days he shall be ready, and he shall prove his right to the kill.’

  6

  A Bride for King Marc

  BESIDE THEIR SHIP, Tristan’s companions waited for his return. And on the second day it was on all men’s tongues up and down the river that the King’s Steward had slain the dragon, and that an unknown warrior who had gone against the monster before him had been slain and devoured. And Tristan’s companions looked at each other, and their hearts sickened within them. Then Gorvenal flung on a rough dark cloak such as would blend into the countryside, and slipped away, heading for the dragon’s lair. He found, as the Steward and the Princess had done, the headless dragon and the torn remains of Tristan’s horse and his blackened shield; and he went back to the ship, his heart like a stone in his breast, and told th
e others what he had seen.

  ‘Then it seems there can be no hope that Tristan is still alive,’ said one of the Cornish warriors. ‘Now we must make ready to get the ship to sea, and save ourselves as best we can.’

  But the men who had followed Tristan from Lothian said, ‘Gorvenal could not find him living, but has not found him dead; and if in truth by some chance he still lives, it would be a sorry thing if we were to leave him to his fate.’

  ‘A warrior was slain by the dragon on the day that Tristan went upon this quest,’ said another of King Marc’s Cornishmen, ‘and surely, if he yet lived, he would have returned to us by now.’

  Gorvenal stood and looked them over; and those who were for putting to sea felt as though an east wind were blowing. ‘Three days Tristan bade us wait for him, and we have waited but two. Therefore we will wait at the least another day, and one more after that; lest he has been delayed yet still comes. If you warriors of Cornwall leave now you will leave without me, and the men of Lothian will bide with me; and you can explain as best you may to King Marc, how it is that you return without us, as well as without Tristan.’

  And so, seeing that there was no help for it, the others gave way; and the ship waited for Tristan still.

  And in that same hour, two things happened. The King of Ireland let it be known that another warrior had claimed the dragon-kill, and that his claim and the Steward’s would be tried on the third day; and Tristan, gathering all the little strength he had in him, wrote a message to Gorvenal, telling him what had happened, and bidding him and the rest of the company to be present at the trial; to come in the best and bravest of the garments they had on board, and bearing themselves as befitted bold and honest merchants of Brittany. And this he did because no one in Ireland, as he thought, knew that he was anything but what he had claimed to be, a Breton merchant, and his companions likewise.

  When they knew that Tristan was alive after all, the men of Lothian set up a great shout of rejoicing, and the Cornish warriors forgot that they had ever been for putting to sea without him, and rejoiced also. And they set to bringing out their gayest clothes and burnishing their weapons, to do him credit at the trial.

  The day of the Assembly came. It was to be held in the great timber hall built on a mound in the middle of the town, where the King held the great three-yearly gatherings of his clan chieftains, and gave justice, and feasted the embassies of foreign lands. Such a hall had the King of Ireland had from the days of Conor MacNessa; lightly built as a hunting booth, but hung inside with blue and purple and crimson, its timbers painted, its floor strewn with fresh rushes and water-mint and the starry blue-eyed grass. Here, the foremost of the King’s chiefs and nobles were gathered, and here, too, the merchants from the Breton ship in the river, not looking quite like merchants but rather as though they were warriors and nobles also. And the eyes of every man in the place were upon the terrible dragon’s head, on its cart that had been dragged in through the wide doorway and stood beside the central hearth.

  Then the King entered in the midst of his bodyguard, and seated himself in his High Seat that had the skin of a black bull spread over it. And after him came the Princess with her maidens, walking proud under the royal circlet that bound her hair, and took her place on the pile of embroidered cushions at her father’s feet. And then there was a rustling and a waiting, and the Horn of Summoning sounded, and from the door on the right of the hall the Steward strutted in; and from the door on the left came Tristan, still weak from his wounds, but carrying himself so that men whispered to each other, ‘This is no merchant, but a king’s son!’

  And Tristan looked at no man, but at the dragon’s head beside the hearth, and he wore his fighting face under the silken surface of good manners.

  Then the King struck the forepost of his chair with the silver rod in his hand, for silence. And in the silence he spoke. ‘Chiefs and nobles of this land, I have called you here today on a matter that concerns you as it concerns all Ireland, as it concerns Iseult, my daughter and your Princess. You all know – how could you not? – of the hideous dragon that of a sudden came upon us, and of the havoc and desolation that it has wrought in these past few months. You all know that in despair I offered the hand of the Lady Iseult, being the greatest treasure that I have to offer, to any man who could rid the land of this terror. You all know how many of our boldest and most valiant warriors have died in the attempt. And now the terror is ended; you see the dragon’s head lying here before you; and two men claim the honour of the kill. Therefore I call upon them both to give proof of their claims; and since my Steward was the first to name himself the dragon-slayer, let him be the first to speak before this Assembly.’

  Then all the men looked towards the Steward, who stood forward boldly enough. ‘My Lord the King, I can but say once more, before this Assembly, what I have said before. I did indeed slay the dragon, I and no other man; I slew it after a long and bitter struggle, for the love of the Princess Iseult. And here in this cart lies the monster’s head to prove my claim as clearly as though it could speak! What better proof could there be than that?’

  ‘I can think of better,’ said the King. ‘A man might come upon the carcass of a dragon slain by another man, and cut off its head, thinking to claim the kill.’

  ‘And what man would slay the dragon and walk away?’ demanded the Steward.

  ‘Let the second man to claim the kill answer that,’ said the King.

  So Tristan stood forward also, and gave the Steward back look for angry look. ‘My Lord King, although a merchant, I have some skill with weapons; and hearing of the sorrow of Ireland, and thinking that if I could slay the monster it – might be good for the trade, I went out against the creature and by God’s Grace slew it, but being sorely burned by its fiery breath, when the slaying was over, I crawled away to cool my wounds in a nearby stream, and there a great blackness came upon me. And it must be that while I was lost in the blackness, this man came and found the dragon, and thought his way clear to the reward that another man had done the work and the bleeding for.’

  ‘Lies! All lies!’ cried the Steward. ‘Look at the monster’s head! My sword is yet blackened with its blood!’

  ‘Then you should see it cleansed,’ said Tristan contemptuously. ‘A good sword deserves better treatment than that, Sir Steward!’ And he added for good measure, ‘But it was a good thought, to blood your blade on the carcass.’

  ‘Liar!’ The Steward was crimson with fury, his eyes standing out in his head.

  ‘One of us is a liar, indeed,’ Tristan said. ‘But it is not I.’

  Then the King spoke again, while the Princess looked on and played fiercely with the gold bracelets on her arms. ‘Will you submit to trial by single combat, leaving God to show who is the liar?’

  At this, the Steward turned from red to grey and said not a word; and Tristan said, ‘By God’s Grace, I have no need to foul my sword on the like of this creature, for I have another way to prove that I speak the truth. This head has been closely guarded?’

  ‘Night and day,’ said the King.

  ‘None could have come near it unknown, since it was hacked from the body?’

  ‘None,’ said the King.

  ‘Then let some of your men force open its jaws. Maybe it could have spoken, to prove your Steward’s claim, if it were not lacking the tip of its tongue!’

  It took four of the Irish warriors, using all their strength, to force the great jaws open, and when they did so, there in the bloody cavern of its mouth, clear for all to see, was the black stump of the tongue!

  Then Tristan sprang up into the cart, and took from a folded napkin that he had been holding all this while the leathery forked tongue-tip. ‘My Lord the King, is the proof enough?’

  ‘The proof is enough,’ said the King.

  And when they looked round for the Steward, he had slipped away!

  A sudden gale of laughter went roaring through the hall. And before it was quite silent, Tristan dropped the dr
agon’s tongue beside its head, for it had served its purpose; and leaping down from the cart, went and knelt before the King. For he knew that the next thing must be done quickly, while the King and every man in the hall was on his side.

  ‘My Lord of Ireland, there is a thing that I must tell you now, lest you should hear it in another way, and harm should come to two kingdoms thereby.’

  ‘And what is this thing?’ said the King.

  And the Princess Iseult looked up quickly between the long red curtains of her hair.

  ‘It is this,’ Tristan said. ‘Four days since, it was I who slew the dragon. Two years since, it was I who slew the Morholt.’

  There was a frozen silence, and a long gasp ran through the hall where lately the laughter had been; and the Princess Iseult twisted the bracelet on her wrist until it made red weals on the white of her skin.

  The King’s brows drew together until they all but met. ‘You? You killed my kinsman, Ireland’s champion? Do you know what it is that you say? That you dare to say, standing here before me and among my warriors?’

  ‘I do,’ Tristan said. ‘But let you bear in mind, my Lord the King, that it was not done in the dark, or by an arrow in the back, but in fair fight, his life or mine; and that the challenge was his.’

  ‘That is true,’ said the King slowly. ‘And it is true also that you are no Breton merchant. The Morholt was slain by Tristan of Cornwall.’

  I am Tristan of Cornwall,’ Tristan said proudly. ‘Sister’s-son to King Marc. And these my companions are Cornish nobles, save for twenty, who came with me in the beginning from my father’s kingdom of Lothian. We had no thought to come to Ireland, knowing that it was death for any Cornish ship. But a man’s fate is his fate; we were storm-driven upon your coast, and being mortal men we had sooner live than be slain, so we told the best lie we could.’