Tristan and Isolde - 02 - The Maid of the White Hands: The Second of the Tristan and Isolde Novels (33 page)

CHAPTER 57

Mark leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head and had to admit he’d been treated like a king.

Queen Igraine received him graciously, and promised to hear his complaint as soon as she could. In the meantime, she’d installed him in this fine chamber with its handsome bed, wall hangings, and thick rugs and offered him every comfort he could desire. Yes, he had done the right thing in coming here.

He turned his gaze to the two men waiting in front of the fire. Well, they were good lads, just as Andred had said, ready to do his bidding, whatever it was. Pity they didn’t have a more upstanding air. But even a king could not make Fer de Gambon look less than shifty, or lend the huge Taboral the semblance of a brain.

Still, they looked good, Andred had seen to that. Short and bow-legged as he was, De Gambon gained valuable inches in height from his handsome dark purple tunic with its long velvet coat. Head and shoulders above De Gambon, the deep-chested and long-limbed Taboral cut a striking figure, as he always did. And the jaunty cap with the feathers curling low on the brow was pretty successful in distracting attention from his dull eyes and vacant, smiling face.

He squinted at the two knights. “Are you ready, then?” he cried impatiently. “You know what you have to do?”

They both made obsequious bows. “Yes, sire.”

“You’ll go first, De Gambon,” Mark ordered. Short and shifty he might be, but he should be first into the lists. Then the man mountain, Taboral, would only have to back him up.

Mark twitched his ungainly frame and got to his feet. “And Taboral, just remember what we discussed with Sir Andred, and stick to it,” he said with an unkind laugh. “You can do that, can’t you?”

The two knights exchanged a glance. For what they’d been promised, they could do that and a good deal more. Fer de Gambon stroked his rich plum-colored velvet with a loving hand. Gold and fine feathers had already come their way, and other rewards dangled like bright baubles ahead. All they had to do was make a good showing in front of the old Queen.

“Oh, we’ll do it, sire, never fear,” Taboral said, his beefy face splitting into a wide grin.

Mark frowned in dismay. “Well, try to look serious, man! This is treachery and betrayal we’re revealing, life and death.”

“Yes, sire.”

Taboral obediently rearranged his face into an unconvincing scowl. Mark felt a fleeting misgiving. Could he trust these men?

“Sire!”

It was Andred, hastening in through the door. Like the two knights, he was finely arrayed in black velvet and white silk, with a black silken cap the same smooth midnight sheen as his hair. But his handsome face was as pale as his cambric shirt. Mark listened, rigid with shock. “Isolde
here
? With Tristan?”

“They are, my lord.” Andred’s tone was dark. “They came this morning from France. But the hearing will go forward at once, the old Queen says. We can lodge our charges and have them answered today.”

Mark’s mouth fell open as he struggled to reply.

“What are they doing here?” he cried out in rage. “I thought Tristan was married? Has he left his wife? Why, it’s brazen! It’s proof positive of everything I’m going to say.”

Andred nodded. “We should be able to make something of it, to be sure.”

“And coming here to get the old Queen on their side?” Mark went on, growing angrier with every breath. “Asking an ancient gracious lady, my overlord, to condone their treachery?” Mark strode around the chamber, punching the palm of his hand. “They’ll pay for this. I’ll have Tristan expelled from the Round Table and get him banished from the land. He’ll be a recreant knight, trailing his shame and disgrace through all the world.”

Andred cleared his throat uneasily. “Sire—”

“Isolde too.” Mark treated him to a venomous glare. “I’ll make her a laughingstock. I’d have her whipped through the kingdom if I could.” He flexed and unflexed his hands. “Darkness and devils, I could lay on the lash myself!”

So Mark ranted and blustered till his spirits were restored. But storm as he might, he could not silence a rising lament.
What am I doing here,
when I could be at Castle Dore? Why did I come?

Then loudest of all.
When can I go home?

“COURAGE, MY QUEEN.”

Courage, yes, for the trial ahead.

Isolde lifted her head and returned Tristan’s smile. Side by side they approached Tintagel’s great hall.

“Queen Isolde and Sir Tristan of Lyonesse,” cried the attendant at the door. They crossed the threshold and the vast space welcomed them in.

Light poured through massive windows on all sides. The midday sun, glinting off the sea, played glittering games with the graceful vault of the roof and its columns of white stone. Curving beams of the same gleaming stone arched overhead like the ribs of a whale, and the floor had been dressed in white sand. They might have been in a palace under the sea.

Seated on a high dais in the distance, Queen Igraine commanded the hall from a strangely wrought antique throne. Frail and ancient as she was, she looked every inch a queen. The high standing collar of her cloak, the richly lined sleeves reaching to the floor, the tall headdress and jewel-encrusted crown, all gave her an air of ineffable majesty. Her gown of gold and blue silk shimmered like the sun on the sea, and her gold wand of office gleamed in her right hand.

At the foot of the dais stood Mark with Andred at his side, and two of his knights in attendance behind. Isolde’s heart tightened in her breast. Mark had dressed himself as if for battle royal, in a gold-studded tunic with a ceremonial sword and dagger at his thickening waist. The gold crown of Cornwall encircled his sandy-gray head, and his hand played importantly on the hilt of his sword. Take account of me! his attire seemed to say. I am knight and warrior, I am King.

“Welcome to this hearing, Queen Isolde.” Igraine’s resonant voice echoed down the hall. “King Mark has laid a serious charge at your door. Lord Tristan, you are named in the accusation too. Our purpose now is to hear these charges out.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Isolde made her deepest curtsy to the throne, then switched the full force of her gaze to Mark. “Sire, I am surprised to see you here. Enlighten me, I beg you. What is this?”

“Adultery and treachery, lady, that’s all,” Mark cried. He turned to Igraine. “Your Majesty, I know they’re scheming against me and plotting to do me down. They want to get rid of me and rule Cornwall themselves.”

What . . . ?
Isolde fought to remain composed.

Andred bowed to the old Queen with a sorrowful air. “This plot is treason against you too, Your Majesty,” he said earnestly. “You are High Queen of Cornwall and Mark’s overlord, and no one but you may replace a vassal king. They may be plotting against you now, for all we know.” He took a breath. “Even against the High King Arthur himself, your dear son.”

“King Mark . . .” Queen Igraine leaned forward. “Both Queen Isolde and Sir Tristan have their own kingdoms. Why should they covet yours?”

“Because they are lovers!” Mark proclaimed. “Oh, all the world thinks that Sir Tristan is the Queen’s knight. But he loves the Queen beyond the bounds of chivalry.”

Igraine leaned forward intently. “King Mark, you have raised these fears before and found them false. Some years ago you challenged the faith of your Queen and she undertook the ordeal by water to clear her name.”

“This time I accuse Tristan too. He’s a faithless wretch and a false traitor to me and deserves no less than to be cast out of the kingdom alive, stripped of his titles, honor, and dignity.”

“Your Majesty—” Tristan’s angry challenge cut through the open court. “Neither the Queen nor I ever plotted against the King. He is my liege lord and kinsman, and I am bound to him by double bonds of faith. Whoever says this, let him repeat his lie, and I will make the truth good against any man alive. My sword stands ready to defend the Queen to the last drop of my blood.”

Isolde could not look at him.
Oh, my love, my love, my love . . .

The old Queen held up a hand. “As you may yet, Sir Tristan. No one may deprive a knight of the right to clear his name. But the King has come here for a hearing, and I may not deny him that.”

A seething silence set in. Isolde could see that Tristan did not trust himself to speak. She steadied herself against her mounting rage and appealed to Mark. “Answer me this, sire. What grounds do you have for making these wild claims?”

“Aha!” Mark fumbled triumphantly in his tunic and dragged out a paper disfigured with black scratches and crossings out. He bowed to the old Queen. “It’s a letter, written in my faithless Queen’s own hand to the Princess of France. With your permission, madam?”

He began to read in a loud, hysterical voice. “ ‘To Your Highness of France. You have with you my knight, Sir Tristan of Lyonesse. To me he is the one—’ ”

He broke off. “ ‘The one,’ ” he cried. “What does that mean, Your Majesty may ask?”

He resumed reading. “ ‘Now word has reached me that you and he are to wed. You should know he was sworn to me with unbreakable oaths.’ ”

Tristan took a step toward Mark, his eyes on fire. “Sworn to the Queen, yes,” he exploded, “as I was sworn to you, sire, at the same time. If I switched my allegiance to another king, you, too, might think I had betrayed your trust.”

Mark’s face twisted in a venomous grin. “That’s not all.” He turned back to the letter again. “ ‘For ten years and more I have enjoyed his love.’” Glaring, he flung the letter at Isolde’s feet. “Condemned by your own hand, lady. What d’you say to that?”

Goddess, Mother, help me . . .

Isolde threw back her head. “I say no more than all the world well knows. Sir Tristan has served me for ten years with steadfast love. A knight must have a lady, and a queen must have her knights. All who know and honor the rules of chivalry understand that.”

Tristan fixed his eyes on Mark. “And chivalry also demands that a knight give faithful service to his king. I swore my allegiance to you and have never broken that oath. You are my liege lord and my King.”

“Hear me, sire.” Isolde strengthened her voice. “Sir Tristan has served you as faithfully as he has served me. Would you not call the service he has given you ‘love’?”

The old Queen nodded. “A knight must love his lady. And in truth, a queen must have her knights.”

Mark’s eyes swiveled madly in his face. “What, madam, to love her forbiddenly? To serve her as a stallion serves a dam?”

Isolde felt her blood roaring through her veins. “Prove it,” she said intensely. “Bring one witness to support these vile claims—”

“Or name your champion, sire!” White with passion, Tristan appealed to the throne. “Majesty, you must permit a challenge now. No man, even a king, may say such a thing.”

The old Queen raised her head. “Can any man prove this?”

“Indeed we can!” Mark threw up his arm to summon the two knights in the rear. “These men will say that they have overheard Tristan and Isolde plotting against me.”

Andred nodded at De Gambon and Taboral. “They will prove that the Queen and Sir Tristan planned to overthrow the King so they could rule together when he was gone. Further, they have evidence that Sir Tristan is without doubt the Queen’s paramour.” He bowed to Igraine. “May I question them, Majesty?”

The old Queen rose to her feet. “Allow me, sir. It will be better if I question them myself.”

Andred tensed, then breathed again. Nothing to worry about. De Gambon was quick-witted and well rehearsed, and Taboral only had to echo what his fellow said.

“Very well, madam.” He signaled to De Gambon. “Step forward, man.”

The knight looked almost impressive, Andred reflected, with his long velvet coat concealing his short legs. And De Gambon knew the game. Isolde and Tristan were going to find it hard to wriggle out of what this young man would say.

But the old Queen was waving away De Gambon and his fine velvet coat. Her golden wand pointed to the young giant at his side. “You, sir, you come to bear witness too?”

“Me, lady?” Bursting with pride, Taboral made a clumsy bow. “Sir Taboral, at your service, Your Majesty, and indeed I do.”

Stepping forward, he thrust past Fer de Gambon in his eagerness to be heard. So they thought that this little bandy-legged runt was cleverer than he was, and should give his evidence first? Now he’d have a chance to show what he could do.

“So, sir.”

Queen Igraine fixed her large, intelligent eyes on the knight. There was a thoughtful pause. Her staff of office hummed and quivered in her hand and she cocked her head as if listening to what it said. At last she spoke. “Tell me, sir, have you heard Queen Isolde plotting with Sir Tristan?”

That was easy. Taboral’s big body relaxed. “Many times,” he said boldly.

“Most recently, when?”

When?
Taboral thought hard. Tristan had been away for a long time. Better make it a good way back. “May Day,” he returned.

“May Day?”