Tristan and Isolde - 02 - The Maid of the White Hands: The Second of the Tristan and Isolde Novels (35 page)

List of places

Avalon
Sacred isle in the Summer Country, center of Goddess worship, home of the Lady of the Lake, modern Glastonbury in Somerset

Bel Content, Castle
Name chosen by Tristan to replace the name of Castle Pleure when he becomes lord of the fortress of Sir Greuze Sans Pitie in Cornwall

Caer Narvon
Welsh town and citadel, home of Sir Yder, modern Carnarvon in North Wales

Camelot
Capital of the Summer Country, home of the Round Table, modern Cadbury in Somerset

Castle Bel Content
See Bel Content

Castle Dore
Stronghold of King Mark, on the east coast of Cornwall above modern Fouey

Castle Pleure
Ancient fortress and grange deep in the heart of the wood, retreat of the cruel Sir Greuze Sans Pitie until his defeat and death at Tristan’s hands, renamed Castle Bel Content by Tristan when he becomes its lord

Cornwall
Kingdom of Arthur’s mother, Queen Igraine, and of her vassal King Mark, neighboring country to Lyonesse

Dubh Lein
Stronghold of the Queens of Ireland, modern Dublin, the “Black Pool”

Erin
Ancient name of Ireland after its Goddess Eriu

Gaul
Large country of the continental Celts, incorporating much of modern France and Germany

Hill of Queens
Primeval burial ground of the Queens of Ireland since time began

Little Britain
Territory in France, location of the kingdoms of King Hoel and Sir Lancelot, modern Brittany

Lough Larne
Castle and estate in Ireland given to Sir Tolen by the late Queen, taken over by Breccan after his brother’s death

Lyonesse
Kingdom below Cornwall, home of Tristan, inherited by him from his father, King Meliodas

Middle Kingdom
Arthur’s ancestral kingdom lying between the Summer Country and Wales, modern Gwent, Glamorgan, and Herefordshire

Ouesterland
Kingdom of Saint Roc in eastern France

Summer Country
Guenevere’s kingdom, ancient center of Goddess worship, modern Somerset

Tintagel
Castle of Queen Igraine on the north coast of Cornwall

Welshlands
Home to Merlin and Brangwain, modern Wales

Western Isle
Modern Ireland, the sacred island of the Druids and home to Goddess worship and a uniquely Celtic form of Christianity

Tristan and Isolde, star-crossed lovers in the time of King Arthur, have been celebrated in poetry, song, and legend throughout the ages. In her stunning new trilogy, Rosalind Miles—bestselling author of the dazzling Guenevere series—sets the fated duo in a dynamic, freshly imagined epic of conquest, betrayal, and desire. Book One introduced the intoxicating Isolde, renowned healer and princess, and Tristan, her powerful yet tenderhearted knight, as their all-consuming love blossomed against a backdrop of international war and court scandal. Book Two finds Isolde crowned Queen of Ireland, even as conniving forces unite to undermine her power, while Tristan is coerced into a journey that will take him to the very edge of madness—and even death—before he is reunited with his one true love. This guide is designed to help direct your reading group’s discussion of master storyteller Rosalind Miles’s breathtaking
The Maid of the White Hands.

About the book

ISOLDE’S QUEENLY DESTINY reaches its apex when her tempestuous mother dies, leaving the Emerald Isle under her supreme rule. Isolde is now Queen of Ireland in her own right, as well as Queen of Cornwall through her dreaded marriage to King Mark, Tristan’s oafish uncle. Isolde is committed to protecting Ireland as one of the last strongholds of Goddess worship and Mother-right in the British Isles, yet behind her back, a handful of power-hungry knights hatch a scheme to topple the ancient succession of queens, while the growing Christian church threatens the age-old autonomy of women.

But there is another secret plot threatening the queen’s personal happiness. Across the sea in France, a beautiful young princess named after Isolde has determined that only one knight will suffice as her chosen husband: Tristan of Lyonesse. She is called “Isolde des Blanche Mains,” for her lily-white hands and her reputation as a healer, but her soul is far from pure, and she will stop at nothing to separate Tristan from his queen and make him her own. King Mark plays willingly into her plot when, addled with jealousy and goaded on by Tristan’s hateful cousin, he sends Tristan to France to recuperate from a jousting accident. Close to death, Tristan is unaware of the manipulation going on as his letters to Isolde are intercepted and he is tricked into marrying the vain and self-serving Blanche.

When Isolde hears the devastating rumors of Tristan’s betrayal, she sets sail for France to uncover the truth—and either reclaim her beloved knight, or set him free forever.

questions for discussion

What irreconcilable differences separate Breccan and his brother Tolen? Why does Breccan’s confrontation with Father Eustan and his monks lead to Tolen’s murder? Is the death ever avenged?

Merlin has only a brief cameo in this volume of the trilogy. What is the significance of his role? Does the dying queen trust him? Why does she accuse him of cherishing Arthur and Tristan above all others? What does she need Merlin to do?

Sir Greuze’s knights follow and obey him long after brain damage on the battlefield claims his sanity, even when they know he perpetrates gory crimes against women. Yet, they claim to operate under the code of chivalry. Are there other cases in the story where you find fatal flaws in the rules of chivalry?

Three conflicts are brewing throughout the novel: Breccan is drumming up a coup to take the Irish throne; Andred and Elva are making a power play for the Cornish throne; and Father Dominian is launching an assault on non-Christians. Which attack gains the most ground by the end of the story? How do these plots threaten Isolde and Tristan’s love affair? What is Isolde’s strongest weapon in defending them?

Who is the knight promised to Isolde by the Lady of the Sea? Does the fact that Isolde needs to be rescued by a knight at the moment of her crowning undermine her power and authority as queen? What becomes of this savior figure? Who does he claim sent him?

Mark’s position as King of Cornwall is tenuous, since he’s technically only a vassal to Queen Igraine. From her perch in Tintagel, Igraine sees and hears everything. Why does she allow Mark to carry on being such a buffoon? Why doesn’t she put a stop to the unsavory influences on him, such as those of Andred and Dominian?

Isolde’s mother leaves her court and the nation of Ireland in total disarray when she dies. How well does Isolde put it back together?

Prince Kedrin is baffled by his sister’s penchant for ruthlessly pursuing her desires. He thinks: “Treachery was the element in which Blanche lived. Indeed it was not treachery to her but common sense, to make sure that she got what she wanted, whatever the cost.” What do you make of Blanche? Are her father and brother too lenient with her? What does the chevalier Jacques Saint Rocquefort see in her? Are you satisfied with Blanche’s happy ending?

Blanche has no problem convincing Tristan that she’s an innocent maiden being bullied by her father into a brutal marriage with Saint Roc. Can Tristan’s mental and physical exhaustion be blamed for his lapse in judgment? Or is he truly naive? Where else in the story is Tristan questionable as a judge of character?

The Lady of the Sea commands Isolde to focus on her duties as queen and to let Tristan fend for himself. Does Isolde succeed in obeying these instructions?

Isolde has the Sight, allowing her ominous glimpses of the future and of Tristan’s whereabouts when they are apart. Does she consider the Sight a blessing or a curse? Does it ever mislead her?

In denying their affair and defending their innocence, Isolde and Tristan are essentially liars. Does this color the way you perceive them as protagonists? How do they get off the hook when they are cornered by Mark in an open trial at Tintagel? Does Igraine know the truth?

After his adventures escaping Duessa, Falsamilla, and Blanche, Tristan laments that he has failed Isolde. Do you agree that he failed, or is Tristan being too hard on himself? What were his alternatives?

Oh, the rapture of the time they had spent at Camelot, away from King Mark’s court! Yet now it was over, how short it had been. Brooding, Isolde watched her knights taking care of the horses and setting up the tents. When she had set out on the embassy to Arthur and Guenevere, the time with Tristan had stretched ahead like a dream. Now in the dark forest so near to Castle Dore, grim thoughts and fears lurked like outlaws behind every bush.

In the distance, Tristan passed among the troops. Isolde sighed. How long had she loved this man? And in all those years they had never been able to live openly together, sharing their thoughts and dreams as others did. Sadness descended on her like the evening dew. Was she doomed to live a life of stolen bliss, trapped like a fly in amber at Mark’s court?

Choose.

You must choose.

“My lady?” The familiar voice of her maid sounded in her ear. “They’re ready for you now.”

“Thank you, Brangwain.”

Turning, Isolde met the bright blackbird eyes of the woman who had come from the Welshlands to nurse her as a child and had never left her side. Those who knew Brangwain called her “Merlin’s kin,” and the lean, unyielding figure in her plain, dark dress clearly had something fierce and Otherworldly in her air. But now her olive-skinned face wore a broad smile as she nodded up the track. “See, lady?”

Isolde’s heart lifted. “I see.”

Tristan was coming toward her with that well-loved smile and reaching for her hand to lead her through the trees. Her royal pavilion stood in a clearing bathed in the last of the day’s golden light, its entrance swagged back in welcome, its interior warm with bright rugs and burning braziers. One young knight was strewing the hot coals with herbs, and the sweet tang of rosemary and thyme scented the air. Another set out a tray of mead and honeycakes, while Brangwain disappeared into the inner chamber to prepare the bed. Tristan thanked the knights and dismissed them with a smile, then turned to face her, his eyes bright with joy.

Isolde could not meet his loving gaze.

Goddess, Mother, show me what to do.

She took off her headdress and shook out her thick mane of hair. Without the tall casque and all-enveloping veil, she looked suddenly smaller, vulnerable, and young. A familiar pang of love pierced Tristan’s heart. No one would believe that this girlish creature with her tender air was a queen and warrior who had seen almost forty summers on the earth.

Tristan watched her in wonder. Oh, how he loved her, how he loved her hair! Its red-gold depths were lit with glints like fire, and her vital spirit lived in its spring and bounce. He longed to seize it by the handful and pull her into his arms. But time enough for that.

“We did well in Camelot,” she said, struggling to raise her spirits with a light tone. “It’s important to grasp what Arthur and Guenevere face.”

“It’s a twofold challenge,” Tristan agreed somberly. “The Quest will be scattering their knights far and wide just as spring brings the Norsemen raiding the eastern shore.”

“And none of the knights wants to stay behind in defense. Sir Gawain and Sir Galahad could hardly wait to take to the road. But if they all go out, who will take care of the land?”

Tristan nodded. “The Grail is a wonderful prize for the knight who succeeds. But the danger of invasion is always there.”

Isolde’s mood deepened. “For Ireland too. You remember the dispatches that came in last night? The Picts are going to trouble us again, it seems.”

“The Painted Ones?” Tristan drew in a breath of alarm. “Alas, they’ve always been a savage race, born to fight.”

A race of savages . . .

Fearful images of wild and daubed barbarians rose before Isolde’s eyes. “The word has reached Dubh Lein that their king is dying, and their young prince Darath is waiting to show his strength.”

“And Ireland must tempt them. It’s so close to their land.”

Isolde laid both hands on her center. “Darath will invade, I feel it. They will need me in Ireland, I see that, too.”

Tristan knew her too well to doubt a word she said. “Then we must go to Ireland, lady,” he said cheerfully. “But you must not fear. The Picts are no more than pirates, by sea and land. They’ll be no match for your knights and men.”

He does not understand.
Isolde shook her head and turned away.

Tristan moved forward and gently took her hand. “Lady, what is your trouble?”

I must choose.

She turned on him abruptly. “When we go to Ireland, we should not return.”

He started at the passion in her voice. “What, not come back to Cornwall? Why on earth . . . ?”

“Mark’s jealous of you. And that’s making me afraid.”

“Alas, lady,” he groaned. “If only we knew why.”

“Why? Oh, Tristan—”

She looked at him with eyes of aching love. Nearing forty, he still had the frank, open look of his boyhood, though the strong planes and angles of his face had deepened with experience and time. His fair hair sprang up from his broad forehead as thickly as it always had, and the blue of his eyes still made her catch her breath. Best of all, he never noticed how heads turned for him, male and female alike. He might have been born to put other men to shame.

And seen against Mark, who had height but not strength and royalty without a trace of dignity, who was cursed with a long, ill-made body with a muddy face and thin, graying, sandy hair—a knight who had no prowess with sword or spear and not a thought in his head of chivalry . . .

Was it any wonder that Mark felt belittled when Tristan was near?

Mark.

My husband, Mark.

Isolde struggled to collect her wayward thoughts. Tristan, too, was floundering, she could see.

“We have always tried to respect and honor him,” he said in a low voice. “So why do we have to leave now? Is there anything new?”

“Yes, indeed.” She could not keep the bitterness from her voice. “The Christians are increasing their power every day. They have sworn to overthrow the Goddess, and Mark does not care. That priest of his, Dominian, feeds his vanity to gain control, and Mark builds them churches to buy absolution from his sins.”

Tristan shifted uneasily. “His sins—?”

“Gods above, Tristan, how long has he flaunted his mistress in my face? And what’s that snake-like Elva but a sin?” Suddenly she could bear it no more. “Look at him, Tristan. He’s a wretched apology for a man and for a king. He’s—”

“He’s my kinsman, lady,” Tristan broke in, his face alive with pain. “I beg you, remember that.”

What?
Isolde stared at him. His look of reproach cut her to the quick. She opened her mouth for an angry retort, then the sound she had heard before came once again, falling through the air like the evening dew.

Never more.

It is time to choose.

She came toward Tristan and took his hand. “I must not go back to Mark or to Castle Dore,” she said intently, her voice very low. “I cannot sustain this marriage any longer.”

Tristan started in alarm. “What?”

Isolde held her breath. Suddenly the way ahead was clear. “I shall go back to Ireland. My country needs me. I should not be here.”

Tristan felt a hollow sickness invade his heart. “But Cornwall—”

“—must do without me,” she said implacably.

Never had he seen her look so cold. He struggled to understand. “But—”

“I married Mark to keep Ireland safe. The danger’s been over now for twenty years. There’s no reason for me to remain as Cornwall’s Queen.” She looked away. “Still less as Mark’s wife, when I’ve never gone to his bed.”

He flushed and looked away. “I know.”

She forced him to meet her eye. “Come with me to Ireland. We’ll forget Mark and Cornwall and join our lives together in my own land.”

He stared at her. “But lady, he’s my kinsman—my only kin. And I swore a lifelong allegiance to him.”

She held his gaze and willed him to be strong. “Set Mark aside, if you can. There’s something else that dearly concerns us both.”

He was quite lost; she could see it.

“What else?” he said in misery, running a hand distractedly through his hair.

Goddess, help me . . .
She drew a long, slow breath. “If I’m ever to have a child, it must be soon.”

“Have a child?” he gasped. “But we’ve always kept our love concealed.”

“So I took the way of the Mother to close up my womb.” She nodded grimly. “But in my own kingdom, I can do as I like. And when I’m free to follow the Mother-right, that means I can change my consort and bear his child.” She paused and clenched her fists. “Your child, Tristan, if it’s not too late.”

“My child?” He could not take it in. But he could see the tempest raging in her soul. Queen or woman, what am I to be? Wife, lover, and mother, or never in this life?

“Come with me, sir,” she said suddenly.

He stood like a bear at the stake. “You know I have sworn fealty to the King,” he said hoarsely.

“I need you. He does not.”

She could see the sweat breaking out on his brow.

“But what of King Arthur—the Round Table—the Quest?”

Isolde’s eyes flared. “What of them?”

“I am one of that sworn fellowship,” he said tensely. “King Arthur may send for me to join the Quest. And I’m still Cornwall’s champion. King Mark may need me to defend the land.”

She stared at him, unmoving. “What about our child?”

Trembling, he caught her eye and looked away. A child? They’d never spoken of it. He had never thought of it before.

And now, go to Ireland and bring a child into the world? Reveal the secret of their love to all? He’d be forced to leave the King’s service in disgrace, betraying all he had known since his life of chivalry began. And what of this new life she talked about, the little soul who would call him father and command his heart’s blood for the rest of his days? Could he do it? Or was he bound to fail?

Fail the child, for sure.

Fail Isolde and fail Mark.

Fail, fail, fail . . .

Yearning in anguish, Isolde watched him pace to and fro, feeling the clash of loyalties in his soul.
Choose!
cried her silent heart.
Choose me!
But already she knew the choice that he had made.

“What will you do?” she said huskily.

“What should I do?” he cried from the depths of his pain. “I owe allegiance to Mark and King Arthur and the Round Table, too. But you are my lady and my undying love. Who should I follow now?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she said hotly. “What should I do? As Mark’s wife, I should return to Castle Dore. But I choose love over duty. What will you do?”

He looked into the distance, but all he could see was the void within himself. “You are the Queen,” he said awkwardly. “The sovereignty and spirit of the land.”

“And you are the King of Lyonesse,” she said tremulously. “But in my arms, you are a man.”

What did she mean? Tristan struggled to read the mystery in her eyes.

She threw him a glance of despair.
Hold me. Love me. Do not let me go.

He covered his face with his hand to hide his grief. “Lady, I beg you, forgive me if you can,” he said huskily. “But I cannot go back on the first vow I made. I swore myself to the King before we met and pledged undying fealty on my soul. I lose my honor if I break that oath, and without my honor, I’m nothing but a recreant knight. And I could not be your knight if I broke my faith. I could not offer you a life of shame.”

She was as pale as death. “So be it.”

Tristan straightened up. “To Ireland with you, lady,” he said bleakly, “while I return to Castle Dore to keep pledge with Mark.”

“Will you come to me afterward? When can I hope to see you again?”

“Somewhere it must be written. But the stars are dark. For myself, I cannot say.”

A cry of pain escaped her. “Must it be?”

“Gods above, lady,” he said, his voice breaking, “I’d give my life to change it if I could. But there is no other way.”

She stepped forward and lifted her hand to his cheek. “Love me one last time?”