sweetly, "'tis for me to do that. Just wait a bit, and I'll be bound that
before another week is out you'll be glad to get rid of her, even to me!"
and away trotted the mischievous old creature, cackling to herself, and
rubbing her hands with glee.
"I'll fatten the pig up somehow," cried Tom desperately, and he began
giving her more than double her usual quantity of food at each meal.
He gave her enough, indeed, to fatten two pigs, and nearly ruined himself
to do it; but the more she ate the thinner she grew, and before the week
was out she was merely skin and bone. "I can't afford to spend no more on
'ee," said Tom sorrowfully, and he made up his mind to take her to market
the very next day before she got any worse.
So, early the following morning they started off to walk to the market.
Tom tied a string around the sow's leg to prevent her running away, but
there was little enough fear of her doing that, for the poor thing could
scarcely stand for weakness. In fact, she kept on falling down from sheer
inability to support herself, and Tom had to pick her up and put her on
her feet again, for she had not got the strength to get up by herself.
After a long time, for they only went at a snail's pace, they came to the
high road. "I believe I'll have to take and carry her on my back," said
Tom dolefully, "or we shan't get to market till night." But hardly had he
spoken the words when the sow took to her heels, and ran as if she had
been a stag with the hounds after her!
Poor Tom was nearly shaken to bits, and his arms were pretty nearly
dragged from his body, for over hedges and ditches she went, and over
everything else that came in her way, dragging Tom after her, until at
last he had to drop the rope and let her take her chance, for his strength
was all gone, and he had no breath left.
As soon, though, as Tom let go his hold of the rope, the creature stopped
her mad race, and walked along as quietly and soberly as the best-behaved
pig that ever breathed. She went, though, every way but the right one,
and this she did for mile upon mile, taking Tom after her, until at last
they came to Tregenebris Downs.
Here, where the two roads branch off, the one to Sancreed and the other to
Penzance, Tom caught hold of the rope again, and tried once more to lead
her to market, but the moment she came to the cross-roads, the sow started
off at full speed again, jerking the rope out of Tom's hand, and careering
away by herself until she got under Tregenebris Bridge. Here, though, she
was forced to stop, for she stuck fast, and could not move backwards or
forwards, for Tregenebris Bridge was a queer, old-fashioned construction,
more like a big drain-pipe than anything, except that it was smaller in
the middle than at the ends. Consequently, as she could not go through it
and come out the other side, and she would not come back, she had to stay
where she was.
Tom did not know what to do. He could not reach her to pull her out, and
all his holloaing and shouting was so much waste of breath. He pelted her
with stones and lumps of turf, first her head and then her tail, until he
was tired, but he might just as well have left her, for all the good it
did. She only grunted, and planted her feet more obstinately.
At last Tom, being quite worn out, sat down to rest, and waited to see
what she would do if left to herself, but though he waited and waited till
evening, the pig never budged. Tom, though, grew so hungry that he hardly
knew how to bear with himself. He had had nothing to eat or drink since
five in the morning, and he had tramped miles upon miles since that time.
"There don't seem much chance of the contrairy old thing's coming out, so
I may as well go home to get some supper," he said at last. "If anybody
finds her they'll know she's mine, for there isn't such another poor
miserable creature in the parish. So here goes." But no sooner had he
made a start than whom should he see coming towards him but Madge Figgy.
Madge was smiling to herself as she walked along, as though she were very
well pleased about something. "Hulloa, Tom Trenoweth!" she cried,
pretending to be surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"Well," said Tom, "that's more than I can tell you, but I ain't here for
my own pleasure, I can assure you of that, and if you want to know more
you can look under the bridge and find out for yourself."
"What's that grunting in there? Surely never your old sow! Well, she
can't have fattened much if she's got in there! Are you in the mind to
part with her now, Tom? What will you let me have her for now?"
"If you've got a bit of something to eat in your basket, for pity's sake
let me have it, for I'm famished; and if you can get the old thing out of
that there pipe you're welcome to her for your trouble," said Tom
sullenly, for he felt small at giving in to his enemy after all.
"I've got a beautiful new kettle loaf in my basket, Tom; take it and
welcome, do."
Tom seized the loaf and began to eat ravenously. "Thank 'ee," said he,
pretending to smile. "I think I've got the best of that bargain,
for anyway I've got a good loaf, and it'll take more than you to get out
my old pig!"
"Ha, ha!" laughed Madge Figgy, "I'm glad you are pleased, Tom, ha, ha!
refused five shillings, and took a twopenny loaf! I'm pleased with my
share of the bargain, and I'm glad you are." Then turning towards the pig
she called softly, "Chug! chug! chug! Come on, chug! chug! chug!"
Out walked the old sow at once, and going up to the witch, she trotted
away down the road after her as tamely as a dog.
THE STORY OF SIR TRISTRAM AND LA BELLE ISEULT.
Long, long ago, when Arthur was King of England, and King Mark was King of
Cornwall,--for there were many petty kings, who held their lands under
King Arthur,--there was born in Lyonesse a little boy, a king's son.
Instead, though, of there being great joy and rejoicing at the birth of
the little heir, sorrow reigned throughout Lyonesse, for his father, King
Melodias, had been stolen away by enchantment, no one knew where.
Nor could anyone tell how to release him, and the heartbroken queen was
dying of grief, for she loved her husband very dearly.
When she saw her little son her tears fell fast on his baby face.
"Call him Tristram," she said, "for he was born in sorrow," and as she
spoke she fell back dead.
Little Tristram wailed right lustily, as though he fully realized his
orphan state, and wept with pity for his own sad fate; and good cause he
had to wail, too, poor little man, had he but known it, for already the
greedy barons had cast their eyes on his land, longing to possess it and
rule it. With only a baby boy standing between them and it, their way was
easy enough. His death could easily be accomplished.
Fortunately, though, for him, and everyone else in the land, King Melodias
was just then released from enchantment by Merlin the wizard, and came
hurrying joyfully to his home, to embrace his beloved wife. Great was his
grief when he found that she was dead, great was the moan he made in his
sorrow. With great pomp and splendour he buried her, and for seven years
lived a lonely life, mourning her.
At the end of that time he married again, but the stepmother hated little
Tristram, the heir, and longed to destroy him, that her own child might be
king. So one day she placed some poison in a cup for him to drink, but
her own child, being thirsty, drank the poison and died.
The queen, broken-hearted at the loss of her boy, and horror-stricken at
what she had done, hated her stepson more than ever after this, and once
again she tried to kill him in the same manner. This time, though,
King Melodias, spying the tempting-looking drink, took it up and was about
to drink it, when the queen, seeing what he was about to do, rushed in and
snatched it from him. Then he discovered her guilt, and his anger knew no
bounds.
"Thou traitress!" he cried, "confess what manner of drink this is, or here
and now I will run this sword through thy heart!"
So she confessed, and was tried before the barons, and by their judgment
was given over to be burnt to death. The faggots were prepared, the queen
was bound to the stake, and they were beginning to light the fire when
little Tristram, flinging himself on his knees, besought his father with
such entreaties to pardon her, that the king could not refuse. So the
queen was released, and in time the king forgave her.
But, though he forgave her, he could never trust her again, and to protect
little Tristram from her, he was sent to France, where he continued for
some time, learning to joust and hunt, and do all things that were right
and brave and noble; and seven years passed before he returned to his home
in Lyonesse.
Lyonesse was the furthest point of Cornwall; it joined what we now call
'Land's End,' and stretched out through the sea until it reached the
Scilly Islands, a wild, rugged, beautiful spot, washed on either side by
the glorious Atlantic sea. One day, though, that glorious Atlantic rose
like a mountain above Lyonesse, and where in the morning had been a
beautiful city with churches and houses, and fertile lands, in the evening
there was only a raging, boiling sea, bearing on its bosom fragments of
the lost world it had devoured. This, though, was long after the time of
which I am writing now.
For two years after his return from France, Tristram lived in Lyonesse,
and then it happened that King Anguish of Ireland sent to King Mark of
Cornwall to demand seven years' truage that was due to him. But when the
demand reached King Mark, he and his knights absolutely refused to pay the
money, and sent the messenger back, with none too polite a message, to say
so. If he wanted the debt settled, they said, he could send the noblest
knight of his court to fight for it, otherwise the king might whistle for
his money.
King Anguish was furiously enraged when this message reached him, and
calling to him at once Sir Marhaus, his biggest and trustiest knight, sent
him without delay to Cornwall to fight this battle.
So Sir Marhaus set sail, and King Mark was troubled when he heard who was
coming against him, for he knew well he had no knight to match him.
At last Sir Marhaus arrived, but he did not land at once; for seven days
he abode in his ship, and each day he sent to King Mark a stern demand for
the money.
The king had no intention of paying the money, but he sorely wanted a
knight to fight for him. One worthy by birth and skill to meet this great
champion; and in great ado he sent all over the country in search of such
a one. At last, when none was to be found at home, someone counselled the
king to send to King Arthur at Camelot for one of the Knights of the Round
Table; but that could not be, for Sir Marhaus himself was a Round Table
knight, and they, of course, never fought each other, unless it was in
private quarrel.
When at last the news of all this reached young Tristram's ears, he felt
very greatly mortified that there could not be found in Cornwall a knight
to fight for their rights, and his heart burned within him to go and save
the honour of the West Country. He went to his father, King Melodias.
"It seems to me," he cried impetuously, "a shame to us all, that Sir
Marhaus, who is brother to the Queen of Ireland, should go back and say we
Cornishmen have no one worthy to fight him."
"Alas," answered the king, "know ye not that Sir Marhaus is one of the
noblest of Arthur's knights, the best knights of the world? Beyond those
of the Table Round I know none fit to match him."
"Then," cried Tristram, "I would I were a knight, for if Sir Marhaus
departs to Ireland unscathed, I will never more hold up my head for very
shame. Sir, give me leave to go to my uncle, King Mark, that I may by him
be made a knight."
King Melodias could deny his son nothing, so, "Do as your courage bids
you," he said, and Tristram, filled with joy, rode away at once to his
uncle's court, and as soon as he arrived there he heard nothing but great
dole made that no one could be found to fight the Irish knight.
"Who are you?" asked the king, when Tristram presented himself before him,
"and whence come you?" he added, looking admiringly at the handsome
stranger.
"Sir, I am Tristram of Lyonesse; I come from King Melodias, whose son I
am; my mother was your sister."
Then King Mark rejoiced greatly, for he saw in this stalwart nephew a
champion for Cornwall, and, having knighted him, he sent word to Sir
Marhaus to say he had found a champion to do battle with him.
"I shall fight with none but of the blood-royal," Sir Marhaus sent back
word; "your champion must be either a king's son or a queen's."
Whereupon King Mark sent word to say that his champion was better born
than ever Sir Marhaus was, and that his name was Tristram of Lyonesse,
whose father was a king, and his mother a queen, and a king's sister.
So it was arranged that the fight should take place on an island near, and
thither Sir Tristram went in a ship with his horse, and his man
Gouvernail, and all that he could need. And so noble he looked, and so
brave, and of so good heart, that not one who saw him depart could refrain
from weeping, for they never thought to see him return alive.
So, on the island those two noble knights met, and Sir Marhaus was sad to
see one so young and well-favoured come against him. "I sore repent,"
said he, "of your courage, for hear me that against all the noblest and
trustiest knights of the world have I been matched and never yet been
beaten. So take my counsel, and return again to your ship while you are
able."
"Sir," said Sir Tristram, throwing up his head proudly, "I have been made
a knight that I might come against you, and I have sworn never to leave
you until you are conquered or I am dead, for I will fight to the death to
rescue Cornwall from the old truage."
So they lowered their spears, and without more ado the fight began, and
such a fight as that was never seen or known before in Cornwall. At the
very first charge they met with such force that Sir Marhaus's spear
wounded Sir Tristram in the side, and horses and riders were sent rolling
on the ground; but soon they were on their feet again, and freeing
themselves of their horses and spears, they pulled out their shields and
fought with swords. With their swords they slashed and smote each other
until the blood poured from them in streams, and so courageous were they,
and determined not to give in, that they fought on and on until it seemed
as though that struggle would last for ever. They hurled at each other
with such fury that the blood ran down them in streams, dyeing the ground
all round, yet neither prevailed in the least degree.
By and by, though, Sir Tristram, being the younger and the better-winded,
proved the fresher, and drawing up all his strength for one last effort,
he smote Sir Marhaus on the helm with such force that Sir Marhaus fell on
his knees, and the sword cleaving through helmet and skull stuck so fast in
the bone that Sir Tristram had to pull three times at it with all his
might before he could get it free, and when it did come, a piece of the
edge of the sword was left behind in the skull.
Overcome with pain and shame at his defeat, Sir Marhaus with a mighty
effort raised himself to his feet, and without speaking one word, flung
from him his sword and his shield, and staggered away to his ship.
"Ah!" mocked Sir Tristram, "why do you, a knight of the Table Round, flee
from a knight so young and untried as I?" But Sir Marhaus made as though
he did not hear the taunts, but hurrying on board his ship, set sail with
all possible speed.
"Well, Sir Knight," laughed Tristram, "I thank you for your sword and
shield; I will keep them wherever I go, and the shield I will carry to the
day of my death." So Sir Marhaus returned to Ireland, and there, in spite
of all that physicians could do, he soon died of his disgrace and his
wounds; and after he was dead, the piece of sword-blade, which could not
be extracted before, was found embedded in his brainpan.
When the queen, his sister, saw the piece of sword-blade which was taken
from her brother's skull, she asked that she might have it; and putting it
away in a secret spot she vowed a solemn vow that when she had found out
who had done this thing, she would never rest until she had had revenge.
But about that time Sir Tristram, who had been severely wounded himself,
was also lying at the point of death, neither knowing nor caring to know
of the blessings and praises showered upon him; and great was the grief
that filled the hearts of all the leeches and surgeons for whom King Mark
had sent, for not one was of any avail, and the gallant young knight who
had saved the honour of Cornwall was more than like to die.
At last, when hope was well-nigh dead, there came a lady to the court who
told King Mark that his nephew would never recover from his wounds unless
he went to the land whence the poisoned spear came, for there only could
he be healed.
So, with all speed was a vessel prepared, and on board it Sir Tristram was
carried, and with his man Gouvernail, his dogs, his horses, and his harp,
he sailed until he came to Ireland. Here they all landed, and Sir
Tristram was borne carefully on shore, to a castle prepared for him, where
he was laid on a bed, and there on his bed he lay day after day, playing
on his harp so exquisitely that all the people crowded to listen to him,
for such music had never been heard in that country before.
By and by the news of the presence of this wonderful player was carried to
the king and queen, who were dwelling not very far away: and the king and
queen sent for him to come to them; but when they found that he was a
wounded knight, they had him brought to the castle, and there his wound
was dressed and every care taken of him, for now they all grew to have a
great admiration and liking for him. But who he was, or where he came
from, they had no idea, for he had not told anyone his real name, or the
story of the joust in which he got his wound.
Now in all that land there was no better surgeon than the king's own
daughter, the lady Iseult,--who, because of her loveliness, was known as
La Belle Iseult.--So presently the king, who came to feel a greater and
greater liking for Sir Tristram, and was anxious to see him well again,
gave him over to the charge of his daughter, in whose skill he had great
faith; for none other seemed able to heal him.
So La Belle Iseult nursed him, and attended to his wound, and soon, at the
bottom of it, she found the poison, which she removed, and quickly healed
him. Before this end was reached, though, Sir Tristram had grown to love
his beautiful nurse, and she her patient; for La Belle Iseult with her
flower-like face and large grey eyes, her broad, low brow, round which her
gleaming golden hair waved softly, and fell in heavy waves to her knees,
was wondrously lovable. And Sir Tristram was more than passing noble,
and his manners were gentle and courteous. When he grew stronger he
taught Iseult to play the harp, and they sang songs together, so that they
saw much of one another.
Someone else loved Iseult also, and this was Sir Palamides the Saracen,
and many fair gifts he brought the lady to win her love. But ladies are
not to be won thus, and Iseult did not love the Saracen knight.
Indeed, she besought Sir Tristram to joust with him and conquer him, that
she might be rid of him, both of which Sir Tristram did, though Sir
Palamides had put to the worse many brave knights before, and most men
were afraid of him. Sir Tristram, whom Iseult had arrayed in white
harness, rode against him on a white horse and threw him, and Sir
Palamides was sore ashamed and would have crept secretly from the field,
and from the crowds of knights and ladies watching the jousts, had not Sir
Tristram gone after him and bid him return and finish the joust.
So Palamides returned and fought again, but once more Sir Tristram
overthrew him, and this time wounded him so sore that he was at his mercy.
"Now," said Sir Tristram, "swear to me that you will do as I command, or I
will slay you outright." Sir Palamides seeing his stern face, and
remembering his strength, promised. "Then," said Sir Tristram,
"promise never more to come near the lady La Belle Iseult, also that for a
twelvemonth and a day you will bear no armour, nor wear any harness of
war."
"Alas," cried Sir Palamides, "I shall be for ever ashamed and disgraced,"
but he had to promise, and in fierce vexation he cut to pieces the harness
he then wore, and threw the pieces from him. No one but La Belle Iseult
knew who the knight was who had jousted with the Saracen, until some time
after; and when it was known, Sir Tristram was loved more than ever by the
king and queen, as he was already by their daughter.
So month after month Sir Tristram lingered on in Ireland, and did many a
noble deed during that time, and there he might have gone on living to the
end of the chapter, if it had not been for a sore mischance which befell
thus.
One day, while Sir Tristram was absent, the queen and the lady Iseult were
wandering up and down his room, when the queen suddenly espied Sir
Tristram's sword lying on a couch, and seeing it to be of fine workmanship
and delicately wrought, she lifted it the better to examine it, and she
and Iseult stood admiring it together. Then presently the queen drew the
sword slowly from out its scabbard, and there, within an inch and a half
of the point, she espied the broken edge of the blade.
Thrusting the weapon into Iseult's hands she ran to her chamber, where she
had, safely locked away, the piece of steel which had been taken from her
brother's skull; and bringing it back fitted it to the broken blade
exactly.
At that her anger knew no bounds, nor her mortification that they should
have treated so well, and grown to love, the slayer of her brother.
Sir Tristram happening to return at that moment, her anger so overmastered
her that, seizing the sword, she rushed on him and would have slain him
there and then, had not Gouvernail caught her and wrested the weapon from
her.
Being frustrated she ran in a frenzy of hate to her husband. "My lord,"
she cried, "we have here, in our very home, the destroyer and slayer of my
brother, your most noble and trusty knight."
"Who is he?" cried King Anguish, springing to his feet, "and where?"
"Sir, it is this same knight whom your daughter has healed, and whom we
have loved and treated well. I beseech you have no mercy on him, for he
deserves none."
"Alas, alas," cried the king, "I am right sorry, for he is as noble a
knight as ever I saw. Do him no violence. Leave him to me, and I will
deal with him according to my best judgment."
So the king, who loved Sir Tristram, and could not bring himself to have
him slain, went to Tristram's chamber, and there he saw him dressed, and
ready to mount his horse. Then and there the king told him all that he
had learnt, and said, "I love you too well to do you harm, therefore I
give you leave to quit this court on one condition, that you tell me your
real name, and if you really slew my brother-in-law, Sir Marhaus."
So Tristram told him all his story, and then took leave of the king and
all the court; and great was the grief at his departure, but by far the
saddest leave-taking was that between him and La Belle Iseult, for they
loved each other very dearly. And when they parted Sir Tristram swore to
be ever her true and faithful knight, and she, that for seven years she
would marry no one else, unless by his consent or desire. Then each gave
the other a ring, and with a last long kiss they parted.
So Sir Tristram returned at last to Cornwall, and there stayed with his
uncle Mark, at Tintagel, and great were the rejoicings that he had
returned recovered of his wound, and stronger and more noble-looking than
ever.