Isolde: Queen of the Western Isle (44 page)

For the hundredth time, Isolde got to her feet and bowed, to the accompaniment of ragged cheering from the body of the hall. The toasts and drunken carousals had been going on for hours. When, oh when, could she slip away to her bed?

She could see Brangwain at a distant table, drowsing over her wine. She caught her eye, and nodded.
Soon, Brangwain, soon
. Both of them were dropping on their feet. But nobody in Castle Dore wanted the feast to end.

For the whole town was ablaze with joy tonight. The people were reveling in the streets, and even the dogs and horses were drunk on the free-flowing ale. Those who could not crowd into the Great Hall were feasting in the corridors, in the courtyards, even in the snow outside.

Inside the hall, every face had greeted her with smiles, every heart had rejoiced at her delivery. Sir Nabon had knelt before her with tears in his eyes and admitted that he had ordered the ropes for her rescue at the pool. Old Sir Wisbeck had kissed her hand, then kissed his sword, proclaiming himself her knight for evermore.

Even Andred had begged her forgiveness on his knees. "I was wrong, Your Majesty," he proclaimed, scattering great tears. "Can you find it in your heart to pity me?"

Could she pity him? Yes.

Did she trust him?

Not in the least! Sir Andred had a hard road ahead if he wanted to win her esteem. But a handsome apology in front of all the court went a long way to repair the damage he had done. It was more than she'd had from Dominian, or was likely to have. As she emerged from the pool, threw back her dripping hair, and opened her eyes, she saw the livid face and misshapen body quivering with disbelief. Dominian had never expected her to live. Whatever bargain he had struck with his God had failed.

He had covered it well, of course. "A miracle!" he had cried. "Praise the Lord!"

But the townspeople had jeered him from the pool and the cowardly Mark had been quick to disown him, too.

"He misled me!" he cried to anyone who would hear. Blaming others was Mark's answer to everything now.

That, and getting drunk with his knights. He had long ago left her side to join his men in the hall, and it was a relief to her to see him go. She had remained at the High Table with the wiser lords, but her duty was almost done.
Soon, Brangwain, soon
.

The smoke from the guttering candles was stinging her eyes. The fires had burned down and the servants were dozing at their stations behind the hangings, dreaming of their beds. Even the dogs were snoring on the hearths, rumbling through eternal sunlit landscapes chasing rabbit and wild boar. She was free to go to her bed alone.

The hollowness of it all swept over her.
What now!
came the hammer beat of her heart.
Life here with Mark, and without my love?
For despite his earlier promise to discuss it after the feast, Mark had shown no interest in her plea for Tristan's life. As long as his fury still raged, she saw clearly now, Tristan must stay away.
And what life can I have when I don't know where he is?
"Lady, come."

It was Brangwain at her elbow, helping her to her feet. The maid's sallow face was bruised with tiredness but her mouth was firm. "You have done enough for today. I beg, you, madam, come away to your bed." Brangwain was right. Nodding, Isolde rose and made her farewells.

"Good night, sire. Good night, my lords."

"A health to the Queen!"

"And again!"

"The Queen! The Queen!" Peal after peal of cheers carried her from the hall.

The icy chill of the night would cut flesh from bone. Thankfully she gained her chamber and the comfort of a fire. She stood staring into the flames as Brangwain swiftly helped her out of her robes and wrapped her in a soft chamber gown.

"You triumphed twice today, lady, first at the ordeal, then at the feast," the maid said, her dark face flushed with pride. "You've made yourself Queen here indeed!"

"Yes," she said listlessly. It was true. Why did she feel so wan?

As ever, Brangwain picked up her mood. "I'll leave you, then, madam," she said quietly. "Send for me if you need me in the night."

"Thank you, Brangwain."

Wearily she watched the maid slip out of the door. She drifted to the window, too heartsick and weary to sleep. Where was the girl who had ridden out with Tristan on those dewy mornings in May? Gone like the green leaves of summer, years ago.

She had never felt so spent, so unhappy, so old. Her head was throbbing, and she could hardly move for pain. Stiffly she leaned her forehead against the window.
Goddess, Mother, help me
—
where is my love?

Where? Where?
mocked her reflection in the glass. She gazed out into the peace of the night. Legions of stars spangled the velvet sky, and the walled enclosure behind the Queen's House slumbered under a full moon. Thick frost-covered ivy mantled the four walls below, and all the lawns and paths were blanketed in white. The beauty, the midnight stillness, were balm to her grieving soul. She fancied she could see stars dancing on the shimmering lake of snow.

Where is my love?

She raised her eyes to the moon, aching in her soul. Then she saw a slight movement in the garden below. She looked and thought a shadow darker than the others slipped through a silver splash of moonlight between the trees.

She tensed, her senses aroused, but nothing moved. Impatient with herself, she turned away.

And there it was again, a gray shape flitting behind a bush. Softly she opened the window onto the night. The crouching figure moved as stealthily as a great cat. But this was a two-legged stalker, she was sure. So which of the human predators was on the prowl?
Andred?
she thrilled,
or Mark?
She shook her head. Neither of them would do his own dirty work.

The shadow was silently approaching the foot of the wall. She could make out the shape clearly now, a man wrapped from head to foot in gray. He was dressed like a beggar or a pilgrim but he moved like a creature of the forest, without fear. Suddenly, strangely, she was quite unafraid.

Head down, the hooded stranger stood assessing the ivy, then began to climb. The massive old creeper groaned and strained under his weight. Foot by foot, hand over hand, he found the holds he needed and made his way confidently upward like a great cat.
Come to me
—
come
—

As he reached the window, he threw back his hood. But already she knew the face that she would see.
Oh—oh—oh—

He jumped up onto the sill and then down into the room. His face was pale and shadowed with fatigue. But his eyes were the eyes she had seen in her dreams and his crooked smile was the sweetest thing on earth. Whimpering, she flew into his arms. He smelled of the snowy night and the dark outside. He smelled clean and fresh, he smelled of himself, of— "
Tristan!
"

"Lady, lady," he soothed.

He stroked her cheek with a million tiny touches, each one food for her soul. She reached up and took his dear face between her hands. The light stubble on his jaw pricked her palms and she had never felt a more glorious thing in her life.

Kiss me, she wanted to say. But he was already lowering his wonderful head. They kissed till she was drowning, dying in his arms. She had forgotten the hardness of his lips.

Gasping, they broke apart. She found herself laughing with delight. "They told me you'd sailed away!"

He laughed softly in response. "I took a ship to throw Mark off the scent. But I paid the captain to sail only to the next bay."

Her mind was racing. "And you were the beggar who came to me at the pool!"

Tears stood in his eyes as he smiled back. "I have been beggar and pilgrim for your love."

"And a leper, too! What made you think of that?"

"I had a dream." He looked at her awkwardly. "A strange child with staring eyes came to me and told me what to do. I knew if I knocked you down then picked you up, you could swear on your oath that I had held you in my arms."

A strange child with staring eyes.

She nodded. "You know who that was?"

He stared at her. "No."

"It was Merlin—Merlin Emrys the Bard!"

"How d'you know?"

"Everyone in Ireland knows that wandering child."

He was very pale. "But why should he bother with us?"

Isolde paused. "Not for me," she said slowly. "I never met him in my life. Nor for my mother, I'm sure, though he loved her long ago." She hesitated. "If he took pains with us, it must have been because he cared about you."

Tristan shook his head. "But he doesn't know me!"

"He knew your father. And for Merlin, that would be enough." Brooding, she heard a voice on the vagrant wind.
Tristan, Arthur, and myself, yes, even the great Merlin, lost boys, every one! Motherless, fatherless, nameless, and homeless, too, flying boys becoming wounded men
.

"So Merlin told you to disguise yourself?"

He grinned unexpectedly, a boyish laugh lighting his whole face. "But not as a leper, lady," he said proudly. "That was my idea. I thought that was the best disguise I could get."

She shuddered. "But weren't you afraid?"

"Of catching leprosy? Yes." Tristan looked at her earnestly. "But, lady, you know I would never endanger you. The poor soul I took the bandages from had lain in the snow for days. The ground was frozen, so the lepers couldn't bury him, and I knew the cold would purify the rags."

She nodded. Everyone knew that the little creatures that caused disease could not survive the frost. Tristan was safe from infection, and she would be, too.

And here he was now, his big body calling hers with his every breath, drawing her to him with every beat of his heart. Already her skin was pricking against her shift. She came into the shelter of his cloak. "Love me?" she said.

Wordlessly he cupped his hand to her breast and kissed her again. Then he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. Panting, they renewed their endless, timeless love. Then the last wave broke over their heads and brought them home.

Shivering, he awoke with the first yellow fingers of dawn. Nowadays he never knew more than the half-sleep of the hunted, the fear that kept him trapped between animal and man. Isolde was lolling against him heavily, like a child. He watched and waited, cradling her in his arms, till a sickly light was creeping up the sky. Then he steeled himself to act.

He stroked her face. "Lady?"

She opened her eyes, still windmills of desire. "Yes?" she said huskily, reaching out for him.

Gently he disengaged her arms from around his neck. "I must go."

She was instantly awake.

"Go?"

She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came. They both knew he endangered his life by being here.

He forced a cheerful smile. "Away with me, then."

She could not bear it. "Where will you go?"

"Lady—" He took her in his arms. "I can't tell you."

"
What?
" She pulled away in alarm. "But I must know where you are."

He groaned. "Lady, if you know that, you'll be in danger, too!"

She nodded, biting her lip. if Mark thought she knew Tristan's whereabouts, he was capable of anything to find it out. "He's declared a blood feud against you, did you know that?"

"No." He paused, brooding. "But I knew he would." He was suddenly alert. Gowned like a beggar, he did not even have a sword. All the more reason to go!

He leapt from the bed, shrugging on his clothes. The fire had gone out and the room was as cold as the grave. Isolde jumped up and wrapped herself in her chamber gown. Haplessly she trailed him across the room.

He was at the window now, throwing open the casement, looking for a safe way down. She could see he was already miles away in his head.

Don't leave me!

"I—" she began hopelessly, then shook her head. There was nothing to say.

He turned back and folded her into him, tucking her quivering head beneath his chin.

"Never forget I love you," he said tenderly. "Wherever I am, I shall be thinking of you. Wherever you are we are one, like the sea and the land. Neither exists without the other and together they make a world."

She could not speak.

He put her gently away from him. "No tears," he whispered. "I shall return."

She looked at him through a mist of pain. "I shall be with you everywhere you go. My spirit will travel with yours every step of the way. Every evening I shall light a candle with the evening star. Whenever you want me, call me and my soul will come to you."

The draft from the open window chilled her to the core. He chafed her icy hands and brought them to his lips. "I shall see you again, my love. Till then, keep faith."

The cold air of farewell swirled round them both. She closed her eyes for a last famished kiss, and when she opened them again, he was gone.

All winter long, the sea howled round the shore. The land lay locked in ice, the waves sighed and sobbed and Isolde watched and waited and kept the faith. Every day she walked by the sea and sent love thoughts flying like sea birds to bless Tristan, wherever he lay. And every twilight in the window of her chamber, she lit a candle as the love star bloomed.

The snow lay deep on the earth, stopping rivers and streams, keeping the cows pent up in the byre and the sheep in the fold. Slowly the world ran down to the death of the year and began the climb back to light and warmth.
Good news!
wrote Guenevere from the Summer Country and Isolde pounced on the letter as the horseman clattered in. She read it avidly, but it brought no good news for her.

I know you will rejoice with me, dear friend, when I tell you of the birth of our son, Amir. All the time I w
as carrying, I dreamed I was having a girl, but nothing in the world could be dearer than this royal scrap. You know his name means "Beloved" in the Old Tongue, and truly the Mother has blessed us with a marvelous child
—
already the image of his father, another Arthur, blue eyes, fair hair
—
and his hands!
…