Cornwall's Wonderland

by Mabel Quiller-Couch

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.