But even then the King could not bring himself to agree at once. ‘Give me three days,’ he said, ‘and I will think deeply on this matter. And on the morning of the third day, come to me here, and you shall have your answer.’
And for three days and nights he shut himself away and thought; but still when the third morning came, his mind swung one moment this way and the next moment that. Now, it was summer again, and he waited for the coming of his nobles in the open court before his Hall, sitting on a pile of fine crimson-dyed sheepskins, and playing with the ears of a favourite hound, while still he wondered what answer he was to give them. The swallows were darting under the eaves, and hearing a sudden thin twittering overhead, he looked up and saw two swallows quarrelling over something, darting and swooping in narrow circles and snatching the thing one from the other and back again. At last they dropped it, and as it drifted down, the King saw that it was like a thread of gossamer, yet not silver like gossamer, but red, where the sun caught it, as hot copper. Scarce knowing that he did so, he held out his hand, and the shining thread drifted and eddied into it, and he saw that it was a long hair from a woman’s head.
It was of such a colour as he had never seen before, so darkly red in the shade that it was almost purple, the colour of bramble stems when the sap rises in the spring, yet shining out when the sun caught it, bright as flame. Surely, thought the King, there can be only one woman in the world with hair this colour; and one woman in the world will be hard to find. And when a little later Tristan and the rest of the nobles came into the forecourt, he showed them the hair and told them how it had fallen into his hand from the beaks of the two quarrelling swallows. ‘This is surely a sign,’ said the King. ‘And so now I give you my answer. I will marry as you wish, but only the woman to whom this hair belongs.’
The lords looked at each other. ‘There can be only one woman in the world with hair that colour,’ they said. ‘And one woman in the world will be hard to find.’ And again they looked at Tristan, sideways under their brows, believing that he must have put the idea into his uncle’s head. Then Tristan stood forward from the rest. ‘My uncle, give me the hair, and a ship, and I will go and seek this woman, and if she lives, bring her back to you.’
Then the King saw that there was no help for it; and he fitted out a ship with provisions for a long voyage and rich gifts for an unknown bride. And Tristan gathered a hundred warriors – Gorvenal the first among them – whose loyalty he knew he could depend on; and set sail to search all the countries of the world excepting Ireland, where it was still death for any Cornish ship to go.
Yet a man’s fate is a man’s fate, and none can wipe out the thing written on his forehead. The ship was caught by a great storm off the coast of Wales; and driven hither and yon as the winds and the waves beat upon it. There was neither sun by day nor stars by night to tell them the way they went; until at last the storm blew itself out, and they found themselves driven hard aground on a low reedy shore. And as the light grew, it seemed to Tristan that he knew this shore . . .
It was the place to which his little boat had brought him in his search for healing!
They were driven fast upon the Irish coast below Wexford; and already he could see the fisher boats closing in in curiosity, and armed men spurring down towards them from the town. And with no chance of getting their ship off the beach before the tide rose again, they were trapped!
Then Tristan bade Gorvenal to bring a certain gold cup, fashioned after the Breton style, that they had among the treasures on board; and when the armed band came spurring out through the shallows to the sides of the ship, and their leader, the King’s Coast Marshal, demanded who they were and where they came from, he had a story ready for them.
‘I am called Tantris, and I and my companions are merchants from Brittany, where our wives and children are now. And we travel the world buying in one country and selling in another, and so make our living as honest men may. Two weeks ago we sailed with three ships from our home port on a voyage to Ireland, but off Lyoness the storm that has but now passed over caught us and scattered us apart and drove us all ways at once, and last night it cast us here upon the Irish coast; but whether the other two ships were sunk or driven on some other shore, or whether they are still tossing on the sea far off from here, God knows. Therefore give us leave to land the horses which we have on board, for they are far spent with the pitching and tossing, and get our vessel farther up the beach where the tide will not lift her, while we seek for news of our fellows.’
‘How am I to know that you are not from Cornwall?’ demanded the Coast Marshal. ‘My orders from the King are that the crew of any Cornish ship that comes upon these coasts are to be put to death without mercy. Can you give me any proof that you are from Brittany as you say?’
‘Only this,’ said Tristan, taking the gold cup from Gorvenal, and holding it out. ‘You will see that it is in the Breton style.’
The man’s eyes flickered at the sight of the gold. But, ‘You say yourself that you buy in one country and sell in another. There is no proof in that,’ he said.
Tristan smiled. ‘Take it then as no more than a gift between friends, for yourself and your men. And play a friend’s part to us, gaining for us the King’s leave to bide here while we make our ship seaworthy again and seek news of our comrades.’
And the Marshal took the cup. ‘I accept the gift in friendship, and I will speak for you to the King.’ And he went his way, leaving some of his men on guard.
‘And what now?’ said Gorvenal. ‘Think you that one will keep faith with us for the sake of a gold cup? Have you thought that he could break faith and still keep your bribe?’
‘I have thought,’ Tristan said, ‘and it is in my mind that he is one who can be bought, but who will keep his half of the bargain. He has taken the cup, and if I read him aright he will help us in fair exchange. At the least, we have won a breathing space.’
Now some of the bystanders came to help them get the horses ashore, and as they were splashing the scared beasts up through the shallows, the bells of Wexford began to toll, and the men looked at each other and one said to another, ‘That is the third time in as many days! You’d think they would be having more sense than to be still throwing their lives away on this hopeless business.’
And the other said, ‘When a man is young, and the blood swift and hot within him, there’s much that he will be risking for a beautiful princess.’
‘Risk is one thing,’ said the first, ‘but to be going out against this fire-dragon is certain death, so it is.’
When Tristan heard this, he was at once eager to know more. ‘Pray you, remember that we are strangers in these parts,’ he said, ‘and tell me more of this – a dragon and a princess and you tolling bell – for I only half understand your words.’
‘Have you not heard, then,’ said one of men, ‘of the sorrow that has fallen upon Ireland in these last few months? A terrible fire-drake is laying waste the land, and now that the Morholt is dead, we have no champion who is strong enough to stand against him. The matter is so desperate that the King has offered his daughter, the Princess Iseult, in marriage to any man who can kill the monster; and many bold young warriors have tried and failed. It is for the latest of them that you can hear the bell tolling now.’
Then Tristan grew very thoughtful, and later, when the ship was safely beached above the tide-line and the horses grazing under guard, he went below, and calling Gorvenal after him, bade him to help him arm. ‘I thought that would be the way of it,’ said Gorvenal, ‘for I never yet knew you to get wind of an adventure but you must be off on it! But truly this is madness! You heard what the men said – it is certain death to go against this fire-drake.’
‘It is I who got you all into this hazard, by bringing you with me on this strange quest for the Princess of the Swallow’s Hair; it is for me to get you out of it, if that may be. For if I should succeed in slaying this monster, the King of Ireland can scarcely have us killed, even if
he discovers after all that we are from Cornwall.’
‘No, he will give you his daughter,’ said Gorvenal, exasperated. ‘Have you thought what you will do with an unknown Irish princess, with this quest still before you?’
‘To be sure, there’s the risk. And I value my freedom too much to wish for marriage yet,’ said Tristan, laughing. ‘But who knows? She may be fair enough to make me change my mind!’
And they looked at each other, and the exasperation fell away from Gorvenal, and the laughter from Tristan; and Gorvenal said, ‘At least take me with you.’
Tristan shook his head. ‘I leave you here in command. If in three days I have not returned, you must give me up for dead, and get the ship re-floated, and fight your way out as best you may; and God be with you all. Now help me on with my mail and wish me well.’
And that night, when dark had fallen, Tristan took his leave of his companions camped about the ship, and while they made an uproar to draw the attention of the guards, he got his own horse from among those grazing on the shore, and leading it by the forelock, stole away.
He found a thicket of hazels well back from the shore, and lay up there with his saddle for a pillow until morning; at first light, he mounted and rode off towards the hills where the dragon had its lair. He knew that he was travelling the right way by the scorched desolation of the countryside; and suddenly as he came towards the lower slopes of the hills, he heard a distant roaring, and across his path came a knot of mounted men, all riding as though the Wild Hunt was behind them; and as they passed, they shouted to him to turn back and fly for his life.
‘Well, that makes my search easier,’ said Tristan to himself, and turned his horse into the track by which they had come. All the country looked as though a heath fire had swept across it; black snags of trees and bushes stood up from the ashy ground, and here and there among them lay the scorched and half-eaten bodies of cattle. The whole land reeked of death and fear. Small blame to any that run from this place, thought Tristan, soothing his horse that had begun to dance and snort. And then, rounding an outcrop of heat-scoured rock, he saw before him a little hollow, and on the far side of it a cave mouth in the side of the hill. It must once have been a pleasant spot, where a stream meandered down through hazel bushes. Now the hazels were only black skeletons, and the stream boiled and spat like a witch’s cauldron. And before the cave mouth, coiling itself to and fro in anger, was the dragon that he had come to seek.
It was long as a troop of horses, sinuous as a cat and wicked as sin. Green bale light blazed from its eyes, fire and smoke and deadly fumes came and went, playing over it with the breath from its nostrils; and watching him come, it swung its upreared head from side to side like a snake before it strikes.
Tristan crouched low in the saddle, and levelling his spear, struck spurs to his horse and thundered down the slope towards it.
His spear point took it in the throat as it reared up to meet him, and tore its way in, wounding the creature sore. But Tristan and his horse plunged on into the heat and the poison-fumes, and crashing against the spiked and iron-hard breast scales, the horse dropped dead beneath him. Tristan himself sprang clear, and gained a moment’s breathing-space, for the dragon turned on the dead horse, ripping and goring it instead of the living man. Then, with Tristan’s spear still in its throat, it swung away, roaring in agony, and made for the rocks, uprooting bushes and scorched trees, and coughing out gouts of steaming blood as it went, with Tristan leaping after it with sword upraised.
Wedged under the overhanging rocks beside the stream, they came together again, sword against teeth and claws and flame. Tristan’s shield was charred to cinders, and his ringmail seared his flesh as though he were clad in a garment of fire. But the dragon was weakening as the spear dragged at its throat and breast; the lashing of its coils lost power, and its fire was sinking. And at last, seizing his chance, Tristan sprang in with his sword, stabbing deep, deep between the breast scales until the blade was engulfed to the hilt and the point found the monster’s heart.
The dragon reared up with a bellow that was as though the heavens were falling upon the earth; its death-cry echoed to and fro among the rocks and the high tops of the hills and far out over the marshes, and as it crashed to the ground, its fire dying away, Tristan saw that it was dead. Gasping for breath and far spent himself with battle, he wrenched open its jaws, and with his sword hacked off the venomous black tongue.
Then he turned himself to the wilds, meaning to lie up like a wounded beast through the day, and somehow drag himself back to rejoin his companions and the ship after nightfall. But his hurts were very sore, and it seemed to him that his body was still lapped in flame, and the world swam before his eyes and beneath his feet; and he all but stumbled into the stream where it came down towards the dragon’s lair. It ran cool now, among the blackened tree snags and long trailing branches; it called to him, singing of coolness and rest; and he slipped into the water and lay down still fully armed under the bank, with only his head above the surface. And the water flowed through the links of his mail, hushing the parched pain of his wounds with coolness; and he slipped into a deep, black nothingness, half-sleep and half-swoon.
5
The Princess of the Swallow’s Hair
NOW ONE OF the men who Tristan had seen flying from the dragon’s lair was the King’s Steward, who had long desired to marry the Princess Iseult, though she had no liking for him at all. And when he saw that Tristan went onward despite their warnings, he slipped away from the rest, and turned back on his tracks. For though he had not the courage to face the dragon himself, he most times contrived to be near when anyone braver than he went against the monster, so that if by any chance they succeeded in the quest, he might perhaps be able to claim a share in the killing. And so he was near at hand when he heard the dragon’s last terrible roar; and he said to himself, Nothing could have made that sound that was not in its death-agony. The creature must be dead or dying! Courage now, my heart, and we will see what there is in this for us! And he spurred his horse in the direction from which the sound had come.
And so, searching among the rocks, he came upon the dead dragon and the torn remains of Tristan’s horse, and the charred shield – and of the dragon-slayer, no sign at all. Surely the monster has eaten him, thought the Steward. Ah well, he is not the first to be losing his life so; and if that is the way of it, his loss may be my gain. And drawing his sword, he fell to hacking away most valiantly at the dead dragon until the blade was bloodstained to the hilt. And then remounting his horse, he galloped away back to Wexford town, shouting that he had slain the dragon, and waving his bloodstained sword for all to see. He sent for a cart, and gathered his henchmen to return with him to cut off the monster’s head; and when they had done so, and brought it in triumph into the town, he made for the King’s hall to show him the blooded sword and grizzly hacked-off head, and claim the Princess’s hand in marriage.
Now the King was torn between joy that Ireland was rid of the terror that had laid it waste so long, and grief that his daughter must be married to a man she loathed. But his promise had been given, and could not be broken. He sent for the Princess to come down to her betrothal.
The Princess sat at her embroidery, in her bower on the sunny side of the King’s house, and she heard the distant shouting as she stitched at the fine gold-work of a lily petal; and she said to Brangian who was chief among her maidens, ‘Let you go and look from the window, and tell me why are the people shouting?’
And Brangian ran and looked, and said, ‘Someone has slain the dragon! There is a cart in the forecourt, and in the cart is the dragon’s head – oh, most horribly hacked and blood-dabbled – and a man stands beside the cart with a bloody sword in his hand – and your father the King is there – and – and –’
‘And the man with the bloody sword?’
‘Oh, my lady, it is the Steward!’
Now at this it was as though all the blood in the Princess’s body sped back
to her heart, leaving her icy cold; but she said, ‘There is some trickery here. I know the Steward; I know how little he has of courage. He could never have killed the dragon. He is stealing some other man’s glory.’
And in that instant, there came the King’s messenger, bidding her come down to her betrothal!
The Princess set another stitch in the golden lily petal and said to the messenger, ‘Tell the King my father that I bow myself to his will, and I will come down to my betrothal, but not this evening nor yet tomorrow’s evening, for I am weary and must rest. On the third day, when I have rested, I will come.’
And when the man was gone, she said to Brangian, ‘Go to Perenis my cupbearer, and bid him have three horses saddled and ready by the side gate into the orchard an hour before dawn. We will be riding out and looking at whatever there is still to be looked at, in the place where the dragon was slain. There is some mystery here, and it may be that we shall find the answer to it.’ And she ran her needle into her embroidery so fiercely that it pricked her finger through the silk, and the lily petal was flecked with crimson. And she said, ‘We must find the answer to it; for rather than wed with that man, I will die.’
Next morning, darkly cloaked and with their hoods pulled over their faces, the Princess and Brangian let themselves out through the small side gate into the orchard. Perenis was waiting for them with the horses, and they mounted and rode off towards the hills. They came to the valley, and found first the torn remains of the horse, and Perenis dismounted and bent over it to look at the harness. ‘This is such horsegear as I never saw in Ireland!’ he said. And they rode on, following the signs of the struggle, and found the headless body of the dragon lying among the rocks; and the Princess Iseult dismounted, and went close and looked at the spear in its throat. ‘This is not an Irish spear.’ she said. ‘Some stranger from across the sea has delivered Ireland from the monster, and it seems that death has been all his reward.’