Tristan and Iseult (16 page)

At the far end of the hall five tables groan beneath the weight of food and drink. The king leads us to the biggest and he first gestures for me to sit, then Acha beside me. King Mark sits on my other side and still I look for sign of Tristan. Acha scowls at me as though I have been out all night, asleep by the sea. Does she know what overwhelms my thoughts?

King Mark gestures for a man to come and sit beside him. He dutifully does. I think for a moment it is Tristan, but his hair is the wrong colour and his eyes are harder and his walk is stiff and unfriendly.

‘Oswyn, this is Iseult of Ireland,’ the king says.

I stand for the king’s nephew and he takes my hand and presses his lips upon it.

‘A fair hand,’ he says. His mouth twitches and his eyes sparkle with amusement. Does he jest at my expense?

I say nothing and take my seat. I think the courtesy he has bestowed is one of duty to his uncle and that without the king’s presence he may not have acknowledged me at all. I do not like him and I am a little afraid of him. He sits beside King Mark and helps himself to food without a word.

‘Please eat, Iseult,’ the king says.

I want to ask him what my own uncles have said, but he has turned to his nephew. I hear him ask why Tristan is not present but I do not hear the reply. Has Tristan already asked him if there is a way for me to stay in Kernow?

Beside me, Acha is eating as if she has starved for three weeks. She is enjoying the plentiful food and good wine.

‘Five kinds of meat,’ she says, her mouth half full.

I smile at the simple pleasure.

I see Tristan then, through the crowd. He looks cold and tired and I try to catch his eye but he does not see me. My heart is skipping and turning and my breath comes quickly. He walks around the edge of the hall towards us, but does not look at me, and then he stoops to speak in his uncle’s ear. I see Oswyn’s face, cruel and watchful. He is no friend of Tristan, and I see why the king has chosen Tristan as his heir and not this man who would sour wine with his look.

Tristan sits down beside Oswyn, as far from me as possible. I feel my face begin to crease and crumble as I wonder what change there has been since we stood in the courtyard. My forehead burns from his lips and I hold that thought close because I know it was real.

King Mark leans a little closer to me.

‘How do you like Kernow?’

Relief. I feel a great surge of it. Tristan has spoken with him of my staying here.

‘Very well.’ I am keen for him to know of my desire to stay and add: ‘I think I should miss the people and the generosity we have been shown if I were to return home.’

Home. I wonder if it is here now. I would like that. To walk the shores that Tristan walks and share the moments I have until now known in solitude.

‘I need to speak with you, Iseult. Alone.’

The king stands and gestures for me to follow him. I glance to Tristan, try to catch his eye, but he does not look up from his plate.

We sit down once more in the council chambers that we had sat in when I first came to Tintagel. The king appears awkward as if he does not know how to phrase what he is about to say and I wish that Tristan were here. I do not feel as comfortable alone with King Mark as I did with Tristan.

‘As you know,’ he says, ‘my nephew, Oswyn, has returned from Ireland. He has spoken with your uncles, and they are as eager as I am to reinstate the treaty that was put in place by your father. Their decision is both wise and beneficial to everyone, I am sure you will agree. They will send a force to southern Ireland to see an end to any of Morholt’s forces which remain. Your family will therefore be safe.’

Relief fills my heart as I think of my mother. Her position as a woman of the blood will once more be held high and she will likely find a good match amongst my uncles’ men. I am happy, I realise, at the prospect of her smiling again. Laughing again. Finding a joy in life that she has not known for such a long time.

‘There is more. Your uncles have proposed that we bind our kingdoms with blood. They have suggested a match to secure the peace we so nearly lost when your father died. I will not force this upon you. But I do not think you would be unhappy. They propose that you and I marry and forge more than just a treaty between our peoples. They suggest an alliance.’

I frown. I know I must, for I do not understand the words he has spoken.

‘Marry?’

I do not mean to speak aloud but I have.

‘It must be a surprise, I know,’ the king replies, ‘but you have enjoyed your time here? My company, the people, the castle, the sea? You would be as free as you are now, to come and go as you please, to visit your homeland when you choose. What are your thoughts?’

Eyes that betrayed awkwardness now show the smallest amount of impatience. I cannot form an answer. I think of Tristan. Did he not speak with him, did he not plead for me to stay here so that I might be with him, and not the king? What passed between them since this afternoon? I think of the king’s bed, and not Tristan’s, and the world begins to spin and I try to breathe but cannot.

He stands, touches his cheek as if remembering my touch as I tended his wound.

‘I will give you time to think on it,’ he says.

There is anger in his voice but mostly longing and I feel sadness for not having pleased him.

‘Might I speak with Tristan?’

I do not know what good it would do, and whether I should have asked, but I cannot give answer to this proposal before speaking with him.

The king falters, but composes himself just as quickly.

‘I will send him to you.’

As I wait, I wonder what I will say and how this will play out.

Tristan

I do not touch my plate, the food spread upon the table, the goblet filled with wine. My stomach churns and my face burns with shame. I did not look at her, meet her eye. I pretended this afternoon did not happen. That we were not close for a few moments, free of obligation and loyalties.

She is Irish, I tell myself.

An Irish girl that Mark would marry.

What will she say to him? Does she this moment accept the proposal put forth by her uncles? Was this afternoon real?

I cannot think straight. The room has grown dark, the noise unbearable. Tables of men and women speak of rumour and reunion. Servants and slaves rush back and forth. Warriors become merry on drink.

I stand to leave.

‘When the kings of Ireland proposed that Mark marry the daughter of Donnchadh, I did not think she would be so beautiful.’

Oswyn leans back in his chair, a cup in his hand, smiling up at me.

I do not speak. I have no wish to exchange words with my cousin.

‘I admit I am tempted by the thought of her sitting on my cock too.’

My anger fired, I breathe deeply. Walk away, I tell myself, but I cannot.

‘Take a care, Oswyn. Mark would not wish to hear your speak of her in such a way.’

He leans forward in his chair.

‘You are smitten with the little Irish girl.’ He laughs. ‘A woman desired by many. I hear she was betrothed to Morholt before Mark killed him. She has you lusting after her. Now Mark wants to marry her.’

‘Mark marries her for the sake of peace,’ I say.

Oswyn shrugs, still smiling. ‘If that is what you believe. One day you may inherit her as you will the throne of Kernow.’

‘Mark’s decision,’ I spit back.

‘Not all of Mark’s decisions are wise. If you lose your life in battle as easily as Rufus lost his, my succession is safe.’

‘I would kill you now if I did not think Mark had suffered enough.’

‘Strong words, cousin.’

I am about to retort once more when Mark appears. He is troubled, his brow creased, his gaze far away. He looks up and catches my eye, must have heard mine and Oswyn’s words, but makes no comment. He rests a hand on my shoulder, distracted.

‘Iseult would speak with you, Tristan.’

Iseult

Before I can order my thoughts, Tristan appears in the doorway, his expression neutral, unreadable. Surely Mark has told him of my uncles’ proposal of marriage?

‘Do you know?’ I ask.

Tristan takes a step forward, hesitates.

‘I owe Mark everything. I cannot ask him to give up his chance of happiness for mine.’

The words are hard, rehearsed. Tristan stands proud and strong and uncaring, as if my proximity might burn him and I feel tears in my eyes. What change has occurred in him that he can be so different?

‘You … you said you would speak with the king?’

‘He told me that he would ask you to marry him before I had chance.’

‘But I wanted to stay here for you, not for him.’ My throat is tight. I stand up and take a step toward him, and he takes a step back and looks to the floor.

‘Tristan? Is that not what you wanted? Did I misunderstand? Was I so wrong?’

‘It cannot be.’

‘Your king would understand!’ I half scream, half plead.

‘No, Iseult. No.’ He is shaking his head, as if warding off his own emotion.

Hot tears of frustration roll down my cheeks. I want him to stop this indifference and cruelty, and be the man I rode with this afternoon. More tears come. I long for the jesting and the banter and the affection. I crave the Tristan I know to surface. For nothing to stand between us and for life to be simple.

Tristan breaks. His mask flakes away and beneath he is as distraught as I. He comes to me and brushes away my tears and kisses my forehead.

‘Gods know what you have done to me, Iseult.’

He is himself again, the man I know, the one I spent the day with. I am thankful for his return and I am smiling.

‘I am indebted to Mark is so many ways. He deserves happiness and there is no other way for me to provide that for him. It is selfish of me to want you for myself.’

I am crying and I am tired. I want him to hold me but I know he will not return my embrace. I look into his grey eyes and find nothing but resignation.

‘And if I refuse to marry the king?’

Tristan looks to the floor and sighs.

‘You could not marry me, even if I spoke with Mark. It is your uncles’ bidding, to gift you to Kernow’s king. They would see it as an affront to their wishes if they saw Mark pass their gift to another man. You must have their permission. Without it, we could see war again, so you marry Mark or return to Ireland.’

‘I have little choice then,’ I say, and tears splash down the dress of the king’s late wife. Was his idea to dress me in these clothes, knowing that I would take her place?

‘You are beautiful and kind and Mark is the best man I know. I could not wish for a better match for either of you.’

‘And what of you, Tristan? What of your future?’

‘Mark still attempts to unite the kingdoms of Briton, more so now he is at peace with the Irish once more. Eurig travels to Cunedda’s kingdom in the morning. I will go with him.’

My whole body burns with misery and longing and frustration and helplessness. I want him to stay but I do not speak it. His mind is set and I do not wish to make this harder for either of us. I let him leave and brush my tears away and resign myself to my fate.

Tristan

The air is warmer and the birds sing of spring. We ride along an old Roman road north, patched and worn and ill-repaired. Our horses stumble and snort complaint, and after a while I veer off the road and continue on the grassy verge.

Eurig rides beside me. Silent since Tintagel and I have not made the effort to speak. He guesses my mood and my reason for leaving I am sure. I could not stay and see Mark and Iseult wed. The thought of her name turns my stomach, and I breathe deep the fresh, north air and will myself not to think it again. Already I know the decision to leave was the right one. If Eurig knows my feelings, it would not have been long before Mark realised them too.

I saw my mother before I left. She clung to me as though I would not return. She knows too the hurt I feel, the lies I told her, that I travelled with Eurig because I could not bear to stay in Kernow with Rufus gone.

‘You are fond of Iseult?’

‘As are you.’

I saw her trying to form words that do not admit her suspicions.

‘Mark is strong,’ she said to me.

‘He is,’ I replied.

‘I do not blame you for what happened to Rufus. And neither does Mark. You must accept this. I have not seen you happy once since you returned from Dumnonia, except when you were with her.’

She saw more than she acknowledged on the day we rode to the priory. Were my feelings so obvious? Did she see the glow of a summer’s day as I spoke with Iseult? Or witness our hands touching?