Isolde

by Isolde (v1. 1) [html]

  "That is a foolish oath!" Isolde shouted. "Sir Tristan has handed me aboard ship and helped me mount my horse. And many men touch a woman, whether she wants it or not!" She laughed wildly, and gesticulated to the top of the cliff. "You all saw that beggar hold me in his arms! Does that make me false to the King? I will swear on my soul that no man born of woman has cheated the King of what is rightfully his. And I will go to my ordeal now to prove the truth!"

  "Go then, madam!" bellowed Mark vengefully. When would she give up this charade? He'd show her that he was more than a match for all this. He waved to the guard. "Proceed!"

  "My lady?"

  Isolde turned. A man-at-arms was standing at her side, a bunch of short cords dangling from his hand.

  Isolde's stomach seized. "What's this?"

  The guard could not meet her eye. "You must be bound, as the ordeal requires."

  "No!" Isolde found her voice. "The ordeal is to remain underwater for the count of seventy times seven. To do that, I need to swim!"

  "No, lady."

  Dominian stepped forward, if ever she had doubted the monk's malignant hate, she saw it now. "We Christians have refined this ordeal in the light of God's truth. To remain underwater and live, you must convince Almighty God that you are innocent. The ordeal tests innocence, not whether or not you can swim. Therefore you must be bound."

  "Sire!"

  Isolde turned frantically to Mark. "I chose this ordeal as I knew it in the Western Isle. With us, the accused have the use of their limbs."

  Mark's face flamed. Good, now he had her, he was almost there! He thrust his chin forward aggressively. "And as I told you, madam, you're not in Ireland now!"

  Isolde held out her hands. "Forbid this, Mark!" she shouted. "This is murder, not justice!"

  "It's God's justice, sire!" Dominian hissed. "And your immortal soul. Which do you choose, this sinful woman or God?"

  Mark stood in an agony of rage, twisting his awkward body to and fro. Don't weaken, man, he told himself, she'll have to give in now!

  "If you kill me," Isolde spat, "it will be on your soul for all eternity!"

  Mark flinched. "Bind her hands then, but not her feet!" He let loose a ridiculous laugh. "The judgment of Solomon, eh, Father?"

  Andred nodded to the guard. "Get on!"

  Already the man was fumbling at her hands. He secured one of her wrists, then the other, and tied them off. She could see from his face how he loathed what he had to do.

  "Courage, soldier," she whispered. "The Mother will not blame you."

  He glanced up with pitiful gratitude and backed away. Two burly men and their captain came forward now, their eyes downcast but their purpose plain. She laughed. She would not wait for their rough hands.

  Tristan, be safe, be free! she cried in her soul. And may the Mother bring me to you, wherever you are.

  Her heart sang.

  I shall wait for you, love, where the three worlds meet. Where the silver trees blossom with gold and the stars sing in the high vaults of heaven, praising your name.

  Wherever your road winds uphill, where your heart grows cold, where the wind scours your dear face, I shall be there. And when you come home at last to the Mother, nothing will part us evermore.

  She threw back her head and her hair streamed in the wind. "Farewell," she shouted. "May the Mother forgive you all!" She ran to the edge of the pool and threw herself in.

  A long moment of horror held the crowd transfixed. Then a babble of screams and curses filled the air.

  Mark stood engulfed with terror. She hadn't, she couldn't have, surely not! God Almighty, she'd drown, and then everyone would hate him all his life!

  And they'd—

  And—

  And—

  The hideous list went on. Now the barons would have him even more in their power—even Elva would not forgive him for doing this—from now on, he'd never call his soul his own.

  Mark clutched at his head in fury and began to moan. "Why didn't you stop me?" he wailed to Andred and Dominian. Andred would not meet his eye. But the little priest was incandescent with delight.

  "Sire, this is God's plan!" Marveling, he peered down into the pool. For a second he saw the white shape plunging down, followed by its tail-stream of bright hair. Then the darkness swallowed her and she was gone. Glory be to You, O God! he crowed. Blessings on Your name!

  High overhead, a raw scream pierced the air. "Hear me, King Mark! Hear me!"

  An old crone teetered on the edge of the cliff, waving her withered arms in the air. Her poor and ragged garments fluttered in the wind, but there was a fearful grandeur to her sonorous chant. "In the name of the Mother I invoke the threefold curse. I call down on you the threefold death to come. May you die by water, earth, and fire for taking the Queen's life. May the Mother kill you by inches, as the Queen is dying now!"

  Mark was trembling like a child. "Who is she?" he whispered hoarsely.

  "And curses on you, too!" the old woman screeched. The withered finger pointed like an arrow, first at Andred, then at Dominian's heart. "The Dark Lord will punish you for what you have done! And remember, priest, even in the Christians' hell there's a special place for liars and men of deceit!"

  "Who is she, sire?"

  Dominian's face had turned a leprous white. "We know her all too well. She used to live by our settlement till we needed the land and had to drive her away. Give me leave to punish her for threatening you. We shall put her to the question and deal with her as a witch."

  Mark's eyes bulged. Mary and Joseph, who was king here? Was he priest-ridden, as the people said?

  "No more killing!" he howled. "Isn't one death enough?" He turned on Andred, shaking from head to foot. "This is all your fault! You made me mistrust her. And Tristan, too, my own flesh and blood!"

  He tottered to the edge of the Pool of Tears, his outstretched arms embracing Andred, Dominian, and the men-at-arms.

  "Forgive them, Lord," he cried, "for what they have done! And stretch out your hand to me, a man bereft. Thanks to them, I have lost my Queen! I have lost the only true woman in the world!"

  Chapter 51

  Down, down, down—

  She hit the water like a rock and doubled over with pain. It was colder than she could have imagined, and every muscle in her body twitched and convulsed.

  Don't gasp! Don't breathe in! Swim, swim—

  She had a desperate urge to break back to the surface, but unless she stayed under water, the ordeal would fail. Down! she harangued herself, down—

  And swim—swim!

  She thrust out her hands and found she could paddle like a dog, scooping the water toward her and kicking out strongly behind. Down she went and down, driving through the dark water, seeing strange shapes all around, gray phantoms that swirled away out of sight and were gone.

  Count—don't forget to count—it has to be seventy times seven or the ordeal is void.

  The water was very dark. As she went deeper, fine silky strands of seaweed pulsated through the depths like maidenhair and still she could not see the bottom of the shaft.

  —twenty-one—twenty-two—find a rock—twenty-three—or a clump of sharp-edged mussels, use their shells to saw my hands free—

  She swam to the side, feeling nothing but the smooth rocky shaft. Down again—deeper—down—

  The darkness enveloped her, vibrant and alive. Down—down—she had no fear. Since childhood she had known how to close off the soft back of her throat and swim underwater without air. Seven times seventy was a long time indeed, but she could do it, if she got her hands free. And swimming like this brought a joy few would ever know. In the deep water, the swimmer who was strong enough would reach the silence of the world that lay beyond sound, and touch the still place at the heart of the universe.

  —fifty-nine—sixty—the first seventy!

  Now the silence was alive, a strong rhythmic thrumming in her ears. It swelled into waves of unseen lightness, washing around her body and filling her
head, supporting her as she swam, swallowing her up.

  She felt the tug of the depths, and remembered the sea—the pool must be open somewhere to the tide. It was ebbing now, and the current would be strong. The deeper she went, the more strength it would take to swim back.

  Eighty—ninety—

  And still the count went on with every beat of her laboring heart. Her senses were shrinking and it was harder now to remember where she was, but she dared not forget for a second, or all was lost. She swam on, feeling her way round the sides of the pool. Her numb fingers met many rocky knobs and bumps, but nothing sharp enough to saw her wrists free.

  A hundred—

  Two hundred—

  There must be a rock somewhere—

  The water grew colder as she swam farther down.

  Down—down—down—

  With a shock of fear, she realized that her fingers were numb. Goddess, Mother! If she found the jagged rock she needed, she wouldn't feel it now. She wouldn't be able to use it to save her life.

  Now her feet and legs were losing all feeling too. She tried to keep the blood flowing with a few vigorous kicks, but she was almost out of breath. As she forced herself ever downward, her chest buckled and her lungs shot through with fire. But then even the pain of that gave way to the cold.

  Three hundred—

  Three hundred and—three hundred—

  Turn back—swim to the surface—abandon the ordeal—

  Too late—

  No more strength—

  Her throat was frozen. She would never breathe again. It came to her that she could die here without pain. Water is our first Mother, when we swim in our mothers' wombs. I am ready to return to the Mother for all time. Farewell, love. I will wait for you there.

  She could swim no more. She was sinking like a stone.

  Cold—so cold—

  Sleep then—

  Three hundred—

  Sleep-Three—three—three—

  There was a sudden swirl of water at her side, and a current of warmth brushed her like a lover's kiss. The freezing blackness pulsed then exploded in particles of light, all calling to one another through the dark. Then something was moving beside her in the singing dusk.

  Three hundred and one—and two—

  She could hear another voice, counting insistently in her head. She wanted to respond but she could not, and rolled and wallowed in the water like a dying thing. Then at her side was a shape in silky gray, and a pair of keen bright eyes shining through the gloom. She recognized the newcomer without surprise. It was one of the Maidens of the Lady, come to take her home.

  A hand touched hers, and she felt a flicker of life. As the feeling returned to her fingers, little by little she found she could move her legs. Now she felt herself drawn forward through the water by the seal-like girl, in quite a different direction from before. The Maiden took her hands and drew her down. And there—Goddess, Mother, thanks!—was a jagged rock.

  Four hundred and one—

  Yes!

  She set to work with a will, while her rescuer hovered at her side. Sawing away, she heard a distant roar and knew that her blood was thickening in her veins. As soon as there was no more air in her body, her lungs would collapse.

  Four hundred and ten—four hundred and twenty-one—

  Free!

  With a last convulsive effort she snapped her bonds. Her head filled with jangling sounds and she knew she would swoon. She had left it too late. She had no more courage now.

  Sleep—sleep—

  Isolde, no! Listen to the count. Four hundred and thirty! Four hundred and thirty-one!

  With a series of powerful kicks, the Maiden propelled herself forward and seized Isolde's hand. Then she struck out for the surface, continuing her wordless chant.

  Four hundred and fifty! Four hundred and seventy-one!

  Slowly the darkness thinned. As they left the frozen depths, the water began to feel warm. She could no longer tell if the lights flashing in her head were from the brightness above. But with every strong kick of the Maiden, she knew they were nearer to day.

  Now she could dimly see daylight overhead. She could even make out the sun, a great disk as red as blood.

  Farewell! Go with the Goddess! dropped into her ear. Then, giving her one last powerful upward thrust, the Maiden dove down and was gone.

  "Five hundred!"

  As her head broke the surface, she heard the roar of the crowd.

  Dimly she felt their love, their loyalty. But all she could think of was trying to breathe again. Struggling, she unlocked her throat and gasped for air.

  "Hold on, lady!" came the cry from above.

  She looked up. Roped round the waist, one of the guard was making his way carefully down the side of the pool. High above, other willing hands were lowering him down. Someone—Sir Nabon, she guessed, seeing him lean over with a triumphant smile—had thought of getting her out when the time came.

  "This way, lady!"

  The man-at-arms was beckoning her urgently. She paddled her way toward him with feeble strokes. Deftly he passed a spare rope round her waist, then signaled to the men above to pull her up.

  Up, up, up—

  The rope caught her beneath her ribs, stopping her breath. But as she neared the top, strong hands reached down and lifted her up. The next second, Brangwain was at her side, chafing her frozen limbs, wrapping her in her cloak.

  "Oh, lady—"

  "The Queen! The Queen!"

  The crowd around the pool was erupting with glee. Brangwain was silent amid the weeping, cheering mob, but Isolde could see from her bloodless face what the maid had endured. "Isolde—"

  Blubbering, Mark thrust Brangwain out of the way and seized Isolde clumsily in his arms. "I never doubted you, lady!" he mouthed, falling on her neck. "And I'll never mistrust you again, as long as I live."

  He smelled of horse slobber and drink, treachery and fear. She pulled away and moved her frozen lips. "As you say, sire."

  "I always loved you!" Mark shrilled, eyeing the crowd. The catcalls and hisses he had endured while Isolde was in the pool had taught him sharply to make much of her now. "And I'll prove it tonight. I'll give a great feast in your honor, what d'you think of that?" Whining, he launched off on another tack. "It was all Tristan's fault—he's to blame. He should never have beaten me and Andred and then run away. But we'll catch up with him. That's a blood feud at least, and Andred can't forget. He'll never forgive him till he sees him dead!"

  "Not dead." She was shivering so badly now she could hardly stand. "No more killing," she whispered with the last of her strength. "For the sake of my ordeal, I beg you, spare Tristan's life." Spare Tristan?

  Mark paused, and called his cunning to his aid. "Let's discuss it after the feast, madam," he proclaimed with a flashing smile. "After the feast!"

  "ere's a health to Her Majesty!"

  "The Queen! The Queen!"

  "The Queen!"

  Fifty—

  Eighty-five—

  How many more!

  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.