After three days it happened that Tristan, in following a wounded deer
far out into the wood, was caught by night-fall, and took to thinking
thus under the dark wood alone:
“It was not fear that moved the King … he had my sword and I slept …
and had he wished to slay, why did he leave me his own blade? … O, my
father, my father, I know you now. There was pardon in your heart, and
tenderness and pity … yet how was that, for who could forgive in this
matter without shame? … It was not pardon it was understanding; the
faggot and the chantry leap and the leper ambush have shown him God
upon our side. Also I think he remembered the boy who long ago harped
at his feet, and my land of Lyonesse which I left for him; the
Morholt’s spear and blood shed in his honour. He remembered how I made
no avowal, but claimed a trial at arms, and the high nature of his
heart has made him understand what men around him cannot; never can he
know of the spell, yet he doubts and hopes and knows I have told no
lie, and would have me prove my cause. O, but to win at arms by God’s
aid for him, and to enter his peace and to put on mail for him again …
but then he must take her back, and I must yield her … it would have
been much better had he killed me in my sleep. For till now I was
hunted and I could hate and forget; he had thrown Iseult to the
lepers, she was no more his, but mine; and now by his compassion he
has wakened my heart and regained the Queen. For Queen she was at his
side, but in this wood she lives a slave, and I waste her youth; and
for rooms all hung with silk she has this savage place, and a hut for
her splendid walls, and I am the cause that she treads this ugly road.
So now I cry to God the Lord, who is King of the world, and beg Him to
give me strength to yield back Iseult to King Mark; for she is indeed
his wife, wed according to the laws of Rome before all the Barony of
his land.”
And as he thought thus, he leant upon his bow, and all through the
night considered his sorrow.
Within the hollow of thorns that was their resting-place Iseult the
Fair awaited Tristan’s return. The golden ring that King Mark had
slipped there glistened on her finger in the moonlight, and she
thought:
“He that put on this ring is not the man who threw me to his lepers in
his wrath; he is rather that compassionate lord who, from the day I
touched his shore, received me and protected. And he loved Tristan
once, but I came, and see what I have done! He should have lived in
the King’s palace; he should have ridden through King’s and baron’s
fees, finding adventure; but through me he has forgotten his
knighthood, and is hunted and exiled from the court, leading a random
life. …”
Just then she heard the feet of Tristan coming over the dead leaves
and twigs. She came to meet him, as was her wont, to relieve him of
his arms, and she took from him his bow, “Failnaught,” and his arrows,
and she unbuckled his sword-straps. And, “Friend,” said he, “it is the
King’s sword. It should have slain, but it spared us.”
Iseult took the sword, and kissed the hilt of gold, and Tristan saw
her weeping.
“Friend,” said he, “if I could make my peace with the King; if he
would allow me to sustain in arms that neither by act nor word have I
loved you with a wrongful love, any knight from the Marshes of Ely
right away to Dureaume that would gainsay me, would find me armed in
the ring. Then if the King would keep you and drive me out I would
cross to the Lowlands or to Brittany with Gorvenal alone. But wherever
I went and always, Queen, I should be yours; nor would I have spoken
thus, Iseult, but for the wretchedness you bear so long for my sake in
this desert land.”
“Tristan,” she said, “there is the hermit Ogrin. Let us return to him,
and cry mercy to the King of Heaven.”
They wakened Gorvenal; Iseult mounted the steed, and Tristan led it by
the bridle, and all night long they went for the last time through the
woods of their love, and they did not speak a word. By morning they
came to the Hermitage, where Ogrin read at the threshold, and seeing
them, called them tenderly:
“Friends,” he cried, “see how Love drives you still to further
wretchedness. Will you not do penance at last for your madness?”
“Lord Ogrin,” said Tristan, “hear us. Help us to offer peace to the
King, and I will yield him the Queen, and will myself go far away into
Brittany or the Lowlands, and if some day the King suffer me, I will
return and serve as I should.”
And at the hermit’s feet Iseult said in her turn:
“Nor will I live longer so, for though I will not say one word of
penance for my love, which is there and remains forever, yet from now
on I will be separate from him.”
Then the hermit wept and praised God and cried: “High King, I praise
Thy Name, for that Thou hast let me live so long as to give aid to
these!”
And he gave them wise counsel, and took ink, and wrote a little writ
offering the King what Tristan said.
That night Tristan took the road. Once more he saw the marble well and
the tall pine-tree, and he came beneath the window where the King
slept, and called him gently, and Mark awoke and whispered:
“Who are you that call me in the night at such an hour?”
“Lord, I am Tristan: I bring you a writ, and lay it here.”
Then the King cried: “Nephew! nephew! for God’s sake wait awhile,” but
Tristan had fled and joined his squire, and mounted rapidly. Gorvenal
said to him:
“O, Tristan, you are mad to have come. Fly hard with me by the nearest
road.”
So they came back to the Hermitage, and there they found Ogrin at
prayer, but Iseult weeping silently.