Isolde: Queen of the Western Isle (40 page)

The love star was shining through the falling snow. From her window in the Queen's House, Isolde looked out over the courtyard and watched the busy lanterns going to and fro. Mark was summoning his lords to a council, that was plain. She had sent Brangwain to see what she could learn. But she had no idea what else to do.

Tristan
—

She gasped with pain. Since he left, leaping down the stairs from the solarium without looking back, not a second had passed without the thought beating through her brain,
My love, where will you go?
She had no idea where he was. Fool, triple times fool! Why hadn't she thought to ask?

And to flee in weather like this—hopelessly she cursed each drifting flake of snow.
Where are you now, Tristan? Where will you lay your head?

Her eyes were weary from staring out into the night. But at least she had done the right thing to send him away. Minutes after he had melted into the dusk, the tramping of booted feet had announced the arrival of the guard.

"King's orders, my lady," the captain had muttered, refusing to meet her eye. "Sir Tristan here?"

The men-at-arms had gone away after a cursory search but now she knew that Mark's malice was aroused and ready to strike.

And what next?

She turned away from the window, sick with despair. Any vestige of respect she had felt for Mark had vanished when she recognized the hooded figure as he screamed and ran away. Mark's humiliation was complete, and he would never forgive her or Tristan. He would move against her now and try to prove treachery, like a scorpion striking first. A wiser man would try to cover his shame. But Mark, once wounded, would not rest till he had discharged his venom in return.

And when he turns on you
, chimed her inner voice,
how will you reply
?

The answer came at once,
With a pure heart
.

I have not betrayed you, Mark
, she would tell him with her head held high,
because you and I are not man and wife. We are not married in body, heart, or mind. You love your Lady Elva and I love Tristan, and I never loved you and I never came into your bed
.

And as for treason, Tristan and I never intended you any harm.

Her eyes were burning with cold, watching the white flakes drifting to and fro. More calmly now she threaded the future through her mind. First she must face up to Mark, and get rid of this false charge of treason against Tristan and herself. Then she would ask Sir Nabon and the lords to reconcile Mark with Tristan and put their quarrel to rest. Sooner or later Tristan would want to come back, and Mark was still his uncle and his King. After that, her mother wanted her in Ireland and there was probably no better time to go. Not only for herself, she reflected grimly, but for the Queen and the kingdom, too. She knew from before that the whole of the Western Isle could suffer when the Queen was madly in love and had a new knight.

And then?

Should she bid farewell to Tristan, should they part? When she saw him again, should they agree never to love again, to be strangers evermore? The thought was like dancing on needles, but she could not stop. As long as he was her chosen one, he was breaking his oath to Mark. He had lost his mother and father—was it fair of her to come between him and his uncle, his only surviving kin?

When she saw him again—but what made her think she would? He could be gone forever, she might never see him alive at all after this. What if he'd taken to the forest and lost his way in the snow? Deep in the heart of the wood lay a world beyond greenways and tracks, and many men ventured there for safety, never to return. Or else there were outlaws in plenty on the roads, rogue knights and masterless men preying on travelers—what if they ambushed him? For all his strength, he could have died in a ditch with a dagger in his back—

Died
—
dead, my love?

She was gasping with fear. She forced herself to breathe.
Think! Think! No tears, no fears
—
think and act
—

In the courtyard below a lean, muffled figure was pressing toward the Queen's House, head down through the snow. Moments later Brangwain came through the door, shaking off her cloak and brushing the melting snowflakes from her hair.

"As you thought, lady." The maid came forward with a frozen nod. "The King is in council now with all his lords."

"Well, there's comfort in that." Isolde reached for a smile. "They are all decent men. They will know that a game of chess is not a death plot against the King!"

"If he listens to them, lady."

Isolde felt a renewed chill. "What do you mean?"

The maid's sallow face was pinched with fear and cold. "There was a guard of men outside the council chamber, standing by."

"What?"

Anger convulsed Isolde and she bunched her fists. "This is Andred's doing! I must speak to the King."

Brangwain could hardly speak. "Lady, they told me the order came from the King himself. 'Wait till the end of the council, then go for the Queen.'"

Isolde stared, bewildered. "What for?"

"To take you to prison, lady—that's what they said."

The council chamber was as cold as death. The wind sighed in the chimney and snow crystals frosted every pane of glass. There had been no time to light a decent fire, and the maid was still kneeling by the hearth, struggling with the smoldering wood. Sir Nabon rubbed his hands fiercely and resisted the impulse to blow on his fingernails.

"Gods above, sire," he said irritably, "why are we here?"

Mark's hollow chest puffed up like that of a pigeon in fright. "To try the Queen," he said loudly, "in the absence of Sir Tristan."

"To try the Queen?"

What pernicious nonsense was this? Nabon threw a disbelieving glance around the bleak, unprepared chamber, the dusty council board, and the awkward faces of his fellow lords.

"This is no court of trial," he said firmly. "Your Majesty has summoned your council, and we are ready to advise. Anything else will require the due process of law."

"Yes, indeed."

Seated opposite, the venerable Sir Wisbeck nodded his white head. But bobbing at Wisbeck's elbow, Sir Quirian was not so ready to give up his part in the excitement of the day. The short, self-important body swelled eagerly as he spoke.

"But our first duty is to the King, my lords. And His Majesty has grave concerns that we should deal with now."

"Yes!" cried Mark. He stared around the table, red-eyed. He had to teach his rogue wife a lesson, they must see that. "There's treason here, Andred and I overheard it, between Tristan and the Queen. And he tried to kill me! What more proof of treachery d'you want than that?"

"None, sire," murmured Andred from his place at Mark's right hand. Beneath his cloak he rolled his sore shoulders around, and his secret heart danced. Every blow he had taken was worth it to bring Tristan down.

Isolde, too!

Andred's triumph was complete. Isolde had committed the unspeakable sin of offending Mark's pride. Nothing would placate the King now but to see her disgraced. Tristan was already outlawed and on the run. Isolde would be accused to the lords and punished, by fire or the sword, then Mark must give him permission to hunt Tristan down.

Gods and Great Ones, thanks—

He was dimly aware that Sir Nabon was still droning on.

"These are grave charges, sire. We would all be sorry to think so ill of the Queen. And Sir Tristan is your nephew and an honored knight."

"Yes, sire." Wisbeck wagged a warning finger. "And as long as your Queen is childless, he's your principal heir. We cannot move against either of them without proof."

Andred smiled pleasantly at him, and made a vow. When I am King, old fool, you will kiss iron and swallow my sword.

"Proof?" Mark's eyes bulged. "I've given you the proof!" Fools! cried his struggling self, why didn't they understand? "Andred and I saw them plotting in the solarium, heads together, as close as bare legs in a bed! They were bandying insults, joking about kings and queens—"

"Words, sire, words!" Nabon cried heartily. "To hold a trial, there has to be more than this. Your Majesty will want to be just and fair above all. I propose a committee of barons to look into it."

A committee that would sit on this arrant nonsense till it all petered out, he did not say. But he could see from the faces around the table that they agreed.

All except one.

Dominian leaned forward, glowering at Nabon. "Look into what?" he demanded. "The Queen has already compromised herself with Sir Tristan. And the King's wife must be above reproach."

Mark looked at him, impressed. "That's right!"

"But woman is born to sin." Dominian pierced Nabon with his black, burning gaze, and stared into the darkness beyond the walls. "It is the sin of Eve," he said somberly.

"What, adultery?" Mark gave a start. Surely he remembered the story better than that? Adam was made first, then Eve came out of his rib— was there another sinner in God's garden, then? An adulterous young nephew, perhaps—a wandering knight?

"Treason!" Dominian intoned. "Treachery was Eve's sin and the downfall of man."

"Right again, Father!" Mark's face sharpened into an aggrieved self-righteousness. "The woman betrayed both God and her rightful Lord. Just like my Queen!"

Gods give me patience! Nabon took a breath. "But none of this is treason to the kingdom, sire. Nor to Your Majesty."

"Hear this, then!" Mark pounded the table with his fist. "Tristan fled from the solarium as soon as he could, then he ran to the stables and rode out like a devil from hell. Would an innocent man do that?"

Nabon sighed. "Sire, in your rage, you could have taken his life! Any man in reason may fear the wrath of a king and take flight to save himself."

Mark's foolish face flushed. "I may be King, but I'm a man of honor, too! He had no need to fear me."

"Indeed, sire, we know that," put in Quirian pompously. "You would have called him to account in single combat, as a knight should."

"Yes, exactly!" cried a preening Mark, unaware of the disbelief surrounding him now. "Single combat—knight to knight—I'd have faced him in the field. That's why the coward has run away!"

"And we still have to deal with the indiscretion of the Queen," Quirian huffed on. "She has undoubtedly compromised the dignity and safety of the throne. She should never have received Sir Tristan alone. Every man must be sure that his offspring are his alone—and still more a King! A Queen must be pure, and seen to be pure." He smirked. "Cornwall does not want a cuckoo in the royal nest."

"Within there!" None of them was prepared for the cry of the guards. "The Queen, my lords, the Queen!" The great double doors gaped and Isolde swept in.

Mark's mouth fell open in shock. "What?"

So, my lords? And my husband? What's afoot?

Isolde could see the surprise and consternation on every face.
Good, good!
She suppressed a savage smile.
It looks as if I got here just in time
.

"Good morning, sire."

She made her curtsy to Mark as brisk as politeness allowed, smiling down his livid glare. "And good day to you, my lords. You are dealing with matters concerning me, I think. I have come to assist your deliberations in any way I can."

No one moved. A paralyzed silence fell.

"Speak, one of you!" cried Mark, writhing madly on his throne. What was wrong with them all? This was the woman who had betrayed him, the traitor in their midst! Yet still there was a welcome for Isolde on every face. Surely they could see the wretched creature had no place here? How would he get them to condemn her now?

"By your leave, sire."

Dominian rose to his feet and nodded hotly to Isolde. "This is a Christian land, my lady, ruled by a Christian King. Cornwall keeps the rule of God under King Arthur, a Christian High King, too. In such a land, women may not follow their own will. Even queens must obey rules of purity, as you have not."

Isolde looked him up and down. Why had she ever tried to respect this man? At the wedding, he was wreathed in incense, but today he stank of old woollen nether garments and moldy cheese.
Your rules, priest, are for those who follow your faith. But your One way, One truth, One life is too narrow for me
. She laughed. "Who says so, sir?"

He felt her disdain and flushed. "Your lord and King!"

Mark jerked into action, furiously wagging his head. "By God, yes!" He waved at Dominian. "On, on!"

Dominian came forward with new energy. "Madam, His Majesty plans to set up a commission to investigate this."

A commission? Isolde made her voice sound strong. "On what grounds?"

"Grounds, my lady?" Andred joined the attack. "The King needs no grounds, he may do as he wants. You have given him good reason to question your purity. You live alone—"

Isolde waved a hand. "Alone with fifty or a hundred maidservants and men!"

"Who do not guard the freeways to your bed," Andred pushed on. "You sleep in a private chamber above the Queen's garden, where any lusty knight could climb the wall—"

"Enough," cried Isolde, reddening with rage. "I will not have my life picked over like this!"

"Forgive us indeed, Your Majesty."

It was Sir Nabon, rebuking Andred with a furious stare. "There's no need for such talk," he said angrily. "It was the question of treason that brought us here."

"Treason, my lords? Let me answer that." She paused and felt her power flowing through her veins. "The Island of the West was blessed by the Old Ones before Cornwall was born. When my mother dies, I will be its Queen. Why should I want your kingdom or plot against your King?"

"Why, lady?" Dominian broke in. "There's no answer to wickedness. Evil is its own God."

Isolde laughed. "Not in our worship, sir," she said scornfully. "Those who follow the Mother put their trust in faith and love." She raised her hand, making her voice ring out round the room. "On the soul of your God and mine, I never intended evil to the King!"