"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 s
o, 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!"
A long silence fell as she looked round the room. One by one the lords nodded and she smelled triumph—she could disregard Mark sulking on his throne. He would have to follow whatever his council agreed. She took a deep breath of delight. She had won!
The next moment she met Andred's hard black eyes. You are mine, madam, said his insolent stare. Your paramour may have slipped through my hands, but the dearest thing he loves is still in my power. Prepare yourself, then. I mean to hurt and destroy.
Behind her back, she made the sign against the Evil Eye. "Sir Andred—" she began boldly.
"Never intended any evil, you say?"
Andred favored her with a long, silky smile. "Then you can have no objection to the King's demand. This commission will clear your name and establish the truth." He turned back to the King. "Sire, give us permission to proceed and build up the case."
Build up the case—
Isolde heard a dark wind from afar.
There is no proof, hut Andred will make it up. He will bribe my servants to say Tristan came to my hed—that they heard us plotting and saw us embracing, which no man ever did—
With a sudden bleak insight, she saw the whole game.
And there will be letters, too, that we never wrote. Letters from Tristan, promising to kill Mark.- Replies from me promising to make Tristan King. Then the charge against me will be treason for sure, not simple suspicion as it is now.
Her heart almost burst in her breast.
No remedy hut to strike first!
"Enough of your commission!" She turned on Mark. "I claim the right to clear my name!"
"Clear your name?" Andred sneered. "Madam, how?"
"Listen and learn!" she blazed. "And hold your tongue, Sir Andred, when your Queen speaks."
A hush fell on the room. She could see Mark frozen with fear in his seat, and it gave her strength. "I demand the right of ordeal!" She stared around at the lords, daring them to refuse. "Some of you will have seen it. You all know what it is."
Sir Nabon held his head and groaned aloud. "Madam, you don't know what you ask! This is not for a Queen—"
"Sir Nabon, a queen is the same as a goose girl before the law!" she said feverishly. "And I know the ordeals—earth, water, fire."
Nabon leaned forward and appealed to Mark. "You cannot permit this, sire!"
A look of childish cunning came over Mark's face. "What can't I permit?"
Nabon could have struck him. "The risk to the Queen!" he cried. "Sire, you know what this means!"
"Yes!" cried Mark in a fit. "Seven times through the fire, seven days in the earth, or seven times seventy underwater without air."
"I choose the ordeal by water!" Isolde threw back. "I demand it as my right!"
At last! Mark leapt to his feet in delight. The arrogant witch had played into his hand.
"Then you shall have it, madam!" he shouted. "In seven days' time! Till then, you'll be kept in the Queen's House under arrest."
He stalked to the door and turned back, his dull eyes alight. "You're not in Ireland now. Ask your Great Mother to save you from the Pool of Tears—for no man or woman has come out of it alive!"
Chapter 49
Seven days from today, madam—at the Pool of Tears!"
Threatening and cursing, Mark stormed out of the council chamber, followed hurriedly by his lords.
In the courtyard outside, a lean, hooded form curtsied to the ground as the King swept past. She kept her head bowed too as the Queen was taken away, tall as she was, still dwarfed by the men-at-arms. Only when the courtyard was clear did Brangwain raise her head. In a week, the Queen would be thrown into the Pool of Tears to drown. Tristan could save her, if she could track him down. But where would she find him? Where would he have gone?
Anywhere! her anxious heart replied. Then the stubborn strain of the Welshlands came into play. No man disappears into thin air, least of all a big fellow like him. He loves my lady like his life. He'd never run away and leave her, he can't be far.
Brangwain sighed. Where would Tristan have gone? He fled the solarium only a step or two ahead of the guard. He'd need food and shelter and somewhere to take cover if the King went after him with his men-at-arms. So where? Not to the sea to take ship—that would carry him too far away from all he held dear. Nor would he find shelter on the shore—the beaches were too barren for a man to hide, and it would be all too easy to be trapped in a cave.
Think, now! she scolded herself feverishly. Where would he go?
It came to her like the dawn rising through the trees.
Where but the woodland?
Where else would a hunter hide?
Goddess, Mother, praise and blessings on your name!
~~~
The forester stepped out of his hut, lifted his face to the nip of the frosty air, and gave humble thanks. You're a fool, man, he grumbled cheerfully to himself as he set off with his dog at his heels. You should be praying for the Great Mother to take this away. All the other forest-dwellers hated the snow, cursing the hard weather that bound up the earth like stone, freezing the water and starving them of their food.
But he loved the mornings when he woke to find the well-worn paths and familiar scenes all white and shining, an enchanted land. He marveled at the way the Mother's hand lovingly redrew every branch of every tree, burnishing every twig, gilding each blade of grass. The woodland became to him then like the Great Hall of the Gods, every chamber opening onto other wide chambers of glittering white, all roofed with a stark tracery of dark branches, hung at night with stars.
His dog plunged off into the snow, yelping with glee. For a moment he yearned for four legs too, to romp through the forest like that. The cold pinched his face like a lover's caress, and he dragged it into his lungs with a primal need. Wondering, he watched the dawn breaking through the trees, the fine fingers of light striking fire from the ice and snow. Every mote in the air sparkled as it danced around his head. Winter killed many, he knew. But on mornings like this, he never felt more alive.
If only these early winter snows were not so short! Already he was lamenting the coming loss of this white kingdom, his wonderland. He felt the frost biting his ears and caught himself up with a laugh. Well and good for him to abide the groaning of his belly, but he couldn't inf
lict that on a weeping wife and a brood of bleating bairns. It was one of the things that had kept him single all these years. But a man needed a wife and children all the same.
Years afterward he thought that if he'd been a father then, he would have noticed the child. Or perhaps he'd have seen the boy if he hadn't been light-headed with hunger, floating on the fumes from his empty belly, dreaming his way through the trees. He only knew that when he passed the cloven oak, there was no one there. At the crossroads beyond, he whistled to his dog—now where had old Nipper gone? "Good dawning to you, sir." He turned with a start. At the side of the track behind him stood a child in woodland green. His pale, half-starved face was luminous with cold and his threadbare cloak hung off his skinny form. The thin boyish body was at odds with the child's wizened face, but many children of the forest grew old before their time. This one had a rabbit dangling from his hand. At least the family that had sent him out foraging would eat tonight. All well and good, the forester thought, till he met the child's staring eyes.
"Who are you, lad?" he said roughly, to cover his fear. "What's your name?"
"Emrys, sir."
His voice was as old-young as his little wrinkled face. Its high tones held the sound of the cataract on the black mountain and the upraised sea beating against the shore.
"Emrys," said the forester, to gain time. "One of the names of old Merlin, was it, in days gone by?"
"Merlin Emrys the Bard?" The child gave a strange, sweet smile. "It was and is."
"You're from the Welshlands, then?"
"Once." The child's eyes spun like cartwheels in his head. "Long ago."
The forester felt a sudden urge to be gone. "Well, I'll leave you, young sir."
The boy took no notice. "Have you seen a knight in the wood?"
The forester laughed in surprise. "Plenty, lad. Why d'you ask?"
A piteous eagerness flooded the scrawny face. "Tell me!"
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