his belt a short steel dagger which had been tempered with sorcery, and
springing on Sir Tristram they closed together, and long and fiercely they
fought until the cliffs trembled with the struggle, and the ground was
sodden with blood.
Great ado had Sir Tristram to avoid the huge bulk of the giant, and
greater and greater grew the strain upon his strength, until a blow from
him sent the giant rolling over in the gory mud. He was soon on his feet
again, but the moment had given Sir Tristram time to get his breath.
Then they closed again, and the blows fell faster and more furiously than
ever. The giant's groans of rage and excitement might have been heard for
miles around, while the earth flew about them until they could scarce be
seen. Between every joint of their corslets the blood ran down in
streams, but the sight only infuriated them the more.
At last, with a fierce roar between bitter laughter and pain, Urgan smote
Sir Tristram with such fury that he cracked his shield in half, and then
before Sir Tristram could recover himself he smote him again so that he
would have killed him had not the blow by great good chance turned aside.
But, turning aside as it did, it gave Sir Tristram the chance he coveted,
and rushing in on the giant before he had recovered his foothold, he smote
him with such force and skill that he cleft him clean through; and in his
agony Urgan leapt so high in the air that he fell back over the edge of
the cliff, and dropped heavily into the sea.
His task accomplished, Sir Tristram got into his ship again and sailed
away, and as he passed Tintagel, where his unhappy love lay a prisoner in
the castle, his heart felt like to break; and his yearning for her was so
great, it seemed as though it must bring her to him in spite of her
jailers.
But they were parted, those two, by a fate as strong as death. And she
lay immured in her castle home, while he sailed on and on, not heeding nor
caring whither he went, for all that he loved dwelt on that bleak
iron-bound coast, as far from him as though the whole wide world lay
between them.
And so at last, not heeding whither he sailed, he came to that sunny land
where his wife Iseult dwelt, praying always for revenge because she had
been scorned by him. On the coast at Brittany he landed, close by his own
castle, but no sooner had he stepped ashore than he was met by a knight
who knelt before him and besought his aid.
"Noble sir," cried he, "I am in sore distress. Some robbers, who infest
this land like a scourge, met me as I was riding along with my new-made
bride, and I being alone and single-handed, they quickly mastered me, and
binding me, carried my bride away. And how to rescue her I know not.
Come to my aid, sir, I beseech you, for you look a noble and trusty
knight."
Sir Tristram, glad to have some distraction from his sorrow, was only too
ready to help others who suffered for love's sake. So to Iseult he sent a
message to say he had arrived, and would have been with her but for the
quest, which he was bound to accomplish for his honour's sake, and for the
sake of his knighthood. Then he departed, and he and the knight rode
along the seashore in search of the robbers.
All night they slept in the wood by the sea, but as soon as morning broke
there sounded close at hand a great trampling of horses and clanking of
arms, and soon came along the robber band, with the pale-faced, terrified
lady in their midst, fastened to one of the robbers.
At this sight the hapless young husband could no longer restrain himself.
With a fierce cry he flew at the man to whom his bride was bound,
while Sir Tristram, cool and strong, closed with the band and slew three
before they had tried to defend themselves. And so the unequal battle
began, and so it raged; but with so much courage and fierceness did the
two knights fight for their just cause, that soon nearly all the robber
band lay lifeless on the ground.
The young knight, though, was himself by that time wounded by the last
remaining of the band, and ill would it have gone with him, for the
reeking sword was raised high to give him the final blow, when Sir
Tristram with a cry of triumph rushed in and clove the man so that he
never breathed again.
Thus was all accomplished, and gladly was Sir Tristram returning on his
homeward way, when one of the robbers who had made his escape and lay
concealed, shot at Sir Tristram from his hiding-place, and the arrow
pierced Sir Tristram in that same wound whereof he had nearly died before
he went to Ireland, and La Belle Iseult cured him. And now he felt like
to die again.
Scarcely could he stagger home through the long miles of that rugged
forest by the sea; his eyes were faint and blinded, his legs shook under
him. Parched, trembling, well-nigh dead, he reached at last his castle
gates, but there his strength failed him, and with a terrible cry he fell
prostrate on the ground.
At the sound forth came soldiers and servants, and strong men lifted him
in kindly arms and laid him gently on a bed, calling aloud for someone to
come and dress his wound.
Over by the window of the big hall sat Iseult la Blanche Mains, gazing
with stony, unseeing eyes out over the golden sea, paying no heed to the
noise and bustle going on about her. She had recognized that cry of pain
at the gate, and knew her husband had returned sore stricken, but never,
never once did she turn her head to look at him, nor move to give him
comfort or assistance. And Tristram, ill though he was, felt the change
in her manner to him, and grieved in his heart that all was not as it
should have been, for he could not bear to cause pain to any woman.
As soon as he could speak he called to her, humbly, "Iseult, my wife!"
At that she rose and went to him, but sullenly, and stood looking at him
as though he were a stranger.
"Kiss me," he whispered, and at his bidding she stooped and kissed him,
but it was as though an icicle had brushed his cheek, and a black cloud of
misery settled down upon him, and despairing longing for her who would
have been so gentle and kind to him; and towards his wife his heart
hardened.
And she, poor little Iseult, her heart aching sorely with love and
jealousy and bitter pain, returned to her seat, and no movement did she
make to heal her lord of his wound, though she alone could do so. But in
her heart she had vowed that she would not give him health and life only
that he might leave her again to go to that other Iseult. So, stern and
cold she sat by the window looking out upon the sea, and never spake one
gentle word, or tried to win his love.
And thus three days and nights passed by, and ever the husband and wife
drifted more and more apart. Sir Tristram's wound refused to heal,
his strength failed him more and more, but still his wife made no attempt
to save him.
At last there came a day when Sir Tristram could no longer endure his
lonely, loveless life, or his pain of mind and body, with never a kindly
word or deed to comfort him. This hard, reproachful woman tortured him
hour by hour with her sullen face and hard eyes, her cruel, cold
indifference. And his love for that other Iseult, so tender, and true,
and loving, burnt like fire in his veins and consumed him. So calling to
him Ganhardine, his wife's brother, who loved him greatly, he bade him, by
the love they bore each other, to take his ship 'The Swan,' and with all
speed sail in her to England; and there to land at Tintagel, and by fair
means or foul to convey to Queen Iseult the ring which he there gave him.
To tell her, too, how that he, Sir Tristram, was like to die, but could
not die in peace till he had seen her face once more.
"Then if it be that she comes, hoist a white sail that I may know my love
still loves me, and is on her way. If not, then let the sail be black,
that I may know, and die."
And Iseult of the White Hands heard each word he spake, and never a word
she said; but her rage and jealousy well-nigh consumed her.
So Sir Ganhardine left upon his errand, and sailed for Tintagel in
'The Swan,' and the journey did not take him long, for the ship flew
through the waters like a real bird, as though she knew she was bound on
her master's errand, and that his life depended on her swiftness.
Dark it was when Ganhardine arrived, for it was winter-time, when storms
rage full violent on that bleak coast. And at once he landed, and was
made welcome by King Mark, for a stranger, and a noble one, was ever
welcome in that lone country; and the king's heart never misgave him that
this was a messenger from Sir Tristram.
Now it happened that Dame Bragwaine knew Sir Ganhardine, for they had been
lovers in days gone by, and more than glad they were to see each other
again. So with Bragwaine's gladly given help, Ganhardine conveyed Sir
Tristram's ring to Queen Iseult in a cup of wine, so that when the queen
drank, there at the bottom of the cup lay Sir Tristram's ring, one that
she had given him long ago. And there she saw it, and her pale sad face
lit up with such a wondrous joy that she had some ado to conceal her
emotion from the king and those around her who were ever keeping her
watched.
Deftly, though, she slipped the ring out of her mouth, and deftly she
presently managed to slip it into her bosom, marvelling much the while
whence and how it came, and why. And her anxiety and longing nigh drove
her beside herself. For until all the inmates of the castle had retired
to rest, naught could she learn of the mystery, or of the stranger who had
come to the castle. But once within her own apartments, where she was no
longer watched and guarded as of yore, she quickly, at Dame Bragwaine's
bidding, muffled herself to the eyes, and creeping softly down a flight of
secret stairs, she got out of the castle by a private passage-way and
reached the spot where 'The Swan' lay moored, and where Sir Ganhardine
awaited her with his message and his sad story.
When she heard tell of Sir Tristram's sad plight, and how that he was like
to die, but could not die in peace till he had once more beheld her, there
was no need to plead with her to leave all and go to him. Almost before
the tale was told her she had stepped on board the ship, and without one
glance behind her or one regret she set sail upon the stormy wintry sea to
go to her true love, as fast as the faithful 'Swan' could carry her.
And in her joy that once again she should be with him, once again she
should see him, she almost forgot his sore plight, for hard it was for her
to believe that Sir Tristram could be like to die.
Meanwhile death was drawing nearer and nearer to Sir Tristram.
His restlessness aggravated his wound, his anxious, tortured mind
increased his fever, so that truly he was like to die at any moment.
And all the time, a little way from him sat White-handed Iseult, pale and
cold without, the better to bide the burning rage within.
"Iseult! Iseult!" cried the sick man in his sleep.
"I am here. What would you?" she answered coldly, and he opened his eyes
with a half-doubting joy in them; but his heart sank like lead, and all
the joy died out of him, for the voice was not the voice of his love, nor
the face her face, and sore wearily he sighed, and turned his face away.
"I wronged you past all forgiveness when I married you," he said, "for my
heart had long been given to La Belle Iseult, whose sworn knight I was;
but I did love you, I thought I could make you happy. Have you no pity?
Can you feel no mercy for me now?" he cried piteously.
"I feel nothing," she answered bitterly; "between you, you have killed my
heart, and all that was good in me."
So his heart yearned all the more for the gentler, more tender Iseult.
Wearily he moved in his bed and watched for the first gleam of daylight.
Slowly the hours dragged by, relieved only by the plash, plash of the
waves against the castle walls, or the sighs of the sick man.
Then within a while he spoke again. "My wife," he said, "when morning
comes, look across the sea, and tell me if you see a ship coming, and if
its sails be black or white, that I may the sooner be out of this
miserable uncertainty."
Obediently she rose, and sat watching until the first ray of dawn, when,
skimming over the sea through the morning mist, she saw the dainty 'Swan,'
with her white sails like wings gleaming through the dimness. Over the
wide waters she flew, until she drew close to the castle, and the anchor
was cast. Then from out her sprang Ganhardine, and following quickly
after him came La Belle Iseult. Too impatient to wait for help she sprang
lightly on the shore, and stood there breathless, eager, glad.
And so for the first time Iseult la Blanche Mains saw that other Iseult,
and as she stood on the shore in her white gown, with her golden hair
falling out under her hood like a mantle over her shoulders, the unhappy
wife marvelled not that Tristram loved so fair a creature, and her heart
sank at sight of her beauty, and fiercer burnt her jealousy.
"They come," she said sullenly, turning to her husband.
"Ah!" he cried, with a deep groan of intolerable suspense. "Of thy mercy
tell me, and do not torture me!"
"The sails are black," she answered in a cold, hard voice.
Then was the terrified woman sore afraid, for with a mighty effort Sir
Tristram sprang from his bed, and took one step across the floor, and in a
voice that made even her heart throb and bleed with pity, "Iseult--my
love--my love!" he cried. Then a sudden darkness falling upon him, he
flung out his arms as though to catch at something. "Iseult--Iseult--my
love--come--to me!" he gasped in broken tones, and with a thud fell at his
wife's feet, dead.
"I come, my love, I come!" rang out a sweet voice, full of love and
tenderness and joy; and up the castle steps flew La Belle Iseult, and
across the hall to where he lay. And never a look she gave at the pale,
unhappy wife. Never a glance at aught beside that form.
"Tristram, my beloved! I am here. I am with you--with you for all time,"
she cried, flinging herself on her knees beside him. And never another
word did she speak,--for when they raised her, her spirit had followed his
to where none could part them more.
So died those two who had lived and loved so sadly and so truly. And when
he was dead there was found round Sir Tristram's sword-belt the story of
the fatal love-draught, and when he read it deep was the grief and bitter
the remorse of King Mark that he had ever parted those two so bound
together, and driven them to such despair.
Once more 'The Swan' sailed over the sea to Tintagel, and this time she
bore Sir Tristram and his love together, for side by side they were to be
buried in a dainty chapel made for them alone, that at last they should
never more be parted.
But in time the sea, jealous for those lovers whose doom she had seen,
came up and drew that dainty chapel into her own bosom. And there, where
none can see them, the lovers sleep in peace for evermore, wrapped round
and guarded by the blue waters of the deep Atlantic sea.