Brangian said, ‘Three horses, my lady. You must let me ride with you.’
‘No,’ said Iseult, ‘for your life is here, and whichever way the wind blows, I do not think that it will blow me back to Cornwall again.’
And so, at last, without a backward glance, Iseult of Cornwall left her husband and her country, her crown and her honour, and rode south with Tristan’s messenger, taking with her nothing but a little carved box containing the herbs and salves of her leechcraft. And it was not until the Court gathered in the Great Hall at evening, and her place beside the King’s High Seat was empty, that the King or any man knew that she was gone.
Meanwhile, in the high castle above the city on the coast of Brittany, as the time drew near for Bryn’s return, Tristan lay on his bed seeming like one already dead save for the life that still burned in his fever-brilliant eyes. And one thought ran like a caged and tormented thing round and round within him: would the sail of the ship, when it came, be white – or black? White or black? White or black?
Now Iseult of the White Hands had seen that the woman’s ring was gone from about his neck; and as she sat beside him in the long nights while the fever raged through his body, she heard him talking and talking in the wild waking dreams of his sickness; and so she knew that he had sent for the other Iseult, and of the signal of the white sail or the black. And jealousy tore at her, for she thought, I have been his loving and faithful wife these five years and more; and what has she done for him, this other woman with my name? What has she done for him save leave him without a heart in his breast? And yet now it is to her he turns, and he looks at me as though his eyes had never touched my face before.
And the days went by and the nights went by, and there were storms and then flat calms at sea that delayed the ship. And Iseult saw with an aching and terrified heart that waiting for the ship was the only thing that still held Tristan to life.
And then one morning, when the first sunlight stole into the room, Iseult rose from her night-long watch beside the bed, and went to the window that looked towards the sea to feel the cool air on her forehead. And there, out on the blue water, a ship was heading in to harbour from the direction of Cornwall. And the sail was as white as the underside of a gull’s wing.
Joy and grief welled up together within her; joy that the one person who could perhaps save Tristan was coming to him; grief that it was the woman he loved as he had never loved her. Her eyes were suddenly blind with bitter tears, and the joy and the grief fought each other within her so that she seemed filled with a kind of war.
She heard a faint movement from the bed, and Tristan’s voice, so weak that it was only a whisper, asked, ‘What do you see out there?’
‘I see a ship, far out but heading for the harbour.’
‘From what direction does she come?’
‘From the direction of Cornwall.’
There was another movement from the bed, sharp and agonised, and when she looked round she saw that he had fought up on to one elbow, and she saw the fear and the longing in his eyes. ‘Look again and tell me – what colour is the sail?’
And the cruel jealousy burst up in her, and for that one moment she was filled with rage against him. And the words were spoken before she knew it, ‘I have no need to look again. The sail is black.’
She saw the light go out of his eyes; and he fell back on the pillow and turned his face from her towards the wall. She ran to bend over him and heard him whisper, ‘Iseult! Iseult, why did you not come?’ and knew that it was not her he called to; and as she put her arms round him and gathered him close, a great shudder ran through him, and she was left calling his name and clinging to him, and knowing that he was dead.
Her cries brought her ladies running, and then Tristan’s armour-bearer; and then the steward was there and the priest. Tristan’s body was made ready for burial, and laid on a bier hung with white silk, and borne into the church, to lie where Karherdin had lain with candles at his head and feet.
The wind blew offshore all that day, and it was close to evening before the ship from Cornwall could enter harbour. And the first sound that Iseult of Cornwall heard from the city was the church bells tolling. As she stepped ashore she asked the first man she met, ‘Who do the bells toll for?’ But every bell-beat fell like a stone upon her heart and she knew the answer before ever he told her.
‘For the Lord Tristan who lies in the great church yonder waiting burial.’
Bryn the armour-bearer would have come with her, but she waved him fiercely back, and went forward alone. With her head held high as though it still wore the weight of a crown, she walked up through the mourning city, between the silent crowds that lined the street. She looked neither to right nor left, but followed the sound of the tolling bells, until she came to the church door, and saw the bier before the altar, and the candles at the head and feet; the clergy and the gathered nobles, and the woman silently wringing her white hands, her hair unbound in mourning, who stood close beside the bier.
She walked up the church, until she too stood beside the bier and faced the other woman across Tristan’s body.
Then Iseult of Cornwall spoke, clear and cool under the tolling of the bell. ‘Lady, stand further off, I pray you; for I have the right to be nearest him. I mourn him more than you. I loved him more than you.’
A murmur ran round the church, and Iseult of the White Hands gave her back look for look. ‘That, I doubt,’ she said, ‘but he loved you more than ever he loved me.’ And she stepped back and left the place closest beside him to the other woman.
Then Iseult of Cornwall stooped and drew aside the embroidered pall, and looked long and long into Tristan’s face. ‘Love, you sent for me, and I came,’ she said. ‘I am too late to bring you back, but I can go with you, and so we shall be parted no more.’
And she lay down on the bier, close beside him, and put her arms about him and kissed him long and sweetly on the mouth. And with the kiss, her heart broke, and her spirit left her to go after his. And there were two bodies on the bier, where there had been one.
Iseult of the White Hands was torn with grief for her one moment of blind jealousy; and she caused Tristan and Iseult to be buried together in a noble tomb. But they were not left to lie there long, for when word of their deaths reached King Marc, he spoke no word of sorrow; but he took ship for Brittany, and with the Princess’s leave, brought their bodies back to Cornwall; and there again they were laid in one grave side by side.
And out of Tristan’s heart there grew a hazel tree, and out of Iseult’s a honeysuckle, and they arched together and clung and intertwined so that they could never be separated any more.
About the Author
Rosemary Sutcliff was born in 1920 in West Clanden, Surrey. With over 40 books to her credit, Rosemary Sutcliff is now universally considered one of the finest writers of historical novels for children. Her first novel, The Queen Elizabeth Story was published in 1950. In 1972 her book Tristan and Iseult was runner-up for the Carnegie Medal. In 1974 she was highly commended for the Hans Christian Andersen Award and in 1978 her book, Song for a Dark Queen was commended for the Other Award. Rosemary lived for a long time in Arundel, Sussex with her dogs and in 1975, she was awarded the OBE for services to Children’s Literature.
Also by Rosemary Sutcliff
THE CHRONICLES OF ROBIN HOOD
THE QUEEN ELIZABETH STORY
THE ARMOURER’S HOUSE
BROTHER DUSTY FEET
SIMON
THE EAGLE OF THE NINTH
OUTCAST
THE SHIELD RING
THE SILVER BRANCH
WARRIOR SCARLET
THE LANTERN BEARERS
KNIGHT’S FEE
DAWN WIND
THE MARK OF THE HORSE LORD
THE WITCH’S BRAT
THE CAPRICORN BRACELET
BLOOD FEUD
FRONTIER WOLF
FLAME COLOURED TAFFETA
THE DRAGON SLAYER
THE HOUND
OF ULSTER
THE HIGH DEEDS OF FINN MACCOOL
SUN HORSE,
MOON HORSE
THE LIGHT BEYOND THE FOREST
THE SWORD AND THE CIRCLE
THE ROAD TO CAMLANN
BONNIE DUNDEE
A CIRCLET OF OAK LEAVES
THE CHIEF’S DAUGHTER
THE TRUCE OF THE GAMES
SHIFTING SANDS
THE CHANGELING
EAGLE’S EGG
“WE LIVED IN DRUMKEEN” (with Maggie Lyford-Pike)
SONG FOR A DARK QUEEN
A LITTLE DOG LIKE YOU
THE ROUNDABOUT HORSE
LITTLE HOUND FOUND
THE SHINING COMPANY
For Adult Readers
LADY IN WAITING
THE RIDER OF THE WHITE HORSE
SWORD AT SUNSET
THE FLOWERS OF ADONIS
BLOOD AND SAND
Non-Fiction
HEROES AND HISTORY
HOUSES AND HISTORY
Biography
RUDYARD KIPLING: A BODLEY HEAD MONOGRAPH
Autobiography
BLUE REMEMBERED HILLS
TRISTAN AND ISEULT
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 448 17308 2
Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Publishers UK
A Random House Group Company
This ebook edition published 2013
Copyright © Rosemary Sutcliff, 1971
Illustrations copyright © The Bodley Head, 1971
First Published in Great Britain
Red Fox Classics 9781782950950 1971
The right of Rosemary Sutcliff to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Rosemary Sutcliff, Tristan and Iseult
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