The Lady of the Sea (16 page)

chapter 22

T
he road fell steeply as it drew near the port. From the crest of the mountain ridge overlooking the sea, it carved its way down through thickly wooded slopes and narrowed sharply between two rocky bluffs. Dense undergrowth masked the entrance to the stony defile, and the trees wove a roof of branches overhead. It was the perfect place for an ambush, they all agreed.

An evening mist rose damply from the ground. Standing in the trees above the road, Fer de Gambon stroked his chin and looked nervously about. To his left, the powerful Sir Taboral was keeping a close watch on the highway, and farther off, two other shadowy figures waited in silence for their quarry to approach. In truth, Fer de Gambon had hoped to avoid an all-out attack, but Sir Andred’s word was law. Sir Tristan was an enemy of the King. He must be arrested and brought back to court.

All very well, but . . .

Back at Castle Dore, Fer de Gambon had argued as strongly as he dared that treachery would be better than violence if they wanted Tristan alive. It would be easy to bribe the captain of the ship as soon as he embarked. All it would take was a fat purse of gold to see Tristan trapped in his cabin with a boatload of burly sailors to bring him ashore.

But the dark-faced Andred was adamant they must make the arrest themselves. There was gold in plenty, but it was to be used to hire a couple of local ruffians to back them up. Sir Tristan would never submit to their arrest, and he was too good a fighter for Fer de Gambon and Taboral to subdue him alone.

“And when you find these bullies, tell them not to hold back,” Andred had instructed. “The King wants Tristan arrested, whatever it takes.”

Fer de Gambon had followed his orders faithfully, and the two dark figures lurking with Taboral in the wood had been told they could use as much force as they liked to bring their man down. Brooding now in the damp midsummer wood, Fer de Gambon suddenly realized why Andred had been so careless of Tristan’s safety at the hands of two roughnecks he did not know. Sir Tristan was not destined to survive this ambush and return to court. Sir Andred planned to use the King’s orders to end his cousin’s life.

Fer de Gambon covered a smile with his hand. If he was right, this could turn out very well. If Sir Tristan died in the struggle with no witnesses but himself and Taboral, then Sir Andred would be in their debt for the rest of his life. Fer de Gambon stroked down his velvet coat, and his blood raced. He could not wait to carry word of their triumph to Sir Andred at Castle Dore. He saw riches and furs and silks coming their way, and titles and land and a place at Sir Andred’s elbow when he was King . . .

Hot dreams crowded his head. And all he had to do was to lie down in the road. That was Andred’s plan.

“He won’t be easy to ambush,” Fer de Gambon had pointed out. “We’ll never take him by surprise after all those years on the road.”

Andred smiled. Tristan was still the chivalrous fool he’d always been.

“If he sees an injured man lying in the road, he’ll never ride past,” he said confidently. “That’ll be you, de Gambon.” He turned to the slow-witted Taboral, who was frowning deeply as he struggled to follow the plan. “And when he dismounts, you strike him from behind.”

“Very good.” The big knight’s brow cleared. “I can do that.”

“Get your ruffians to stand by with cords to tie him up,” Andred went on. “And as soon as you’ve got him, send for me at once.”

Then he had sent them on their way, racing to the port. And here they were, waiting for Tristan to arrive. Fer de Gambon looked down from his vantage point above the road and felt a glow in the depths of his stunted soul. The dark Gods might have created this narrow pass for this moment alone. From up here they could see Tristan approaching in good time to set up the ambush that would bring him down.

An owl hooted sadly in the distant trees. Tristan’s death knell? Fer de Gambon grinned to himself. There’d be no other mourners around when Sir Tristan met his fate. He shivered with anticipation. Darkness and devils, let it be soon! He strained his ears for the sound of a horse. Was that the hollow clop of hooves ahead?

“He’s coming,” came Taboral’s hoarse murmur at his elbow. “It’s time for you to go down to the road.”

A tremor of anxiety passed through Fer de Gambon. “You’ll be ready for him, Taboral?” he asked. “He’ll know it’s a trap as soon as he sees my face.”

Taboral drew his sword. “I’m ready, never fear,” he boasted.

Fer de Gambon beckoned up the two dark-faced men in the rear. “And you?”

The two ruffians exchanged a glance and nodded. “Ready.”

Twilight settled over the forest. The living loam breathed out the warmth of the day, and already it was dusk beneath the trees. The night-prowling creatures were beginning to venture abroad, and the earth was alive with bright eyes in the gloom. The sound of hooves drew nearer, and the unseen horseman came riding over the hill.

Tristan crested the mountain ridge with his heart aflame. He had hardly slept since leaving the Castle of Unnowne, still struggling to grasp the enormity of what he had done. Had he really ended his service with Mark? Was Isolde truly awaiting him in Ireland, ready to live openly with him as his wife?

Isolde, Isolde, at last . . .

Then the sharp shoots of bliss were almost too much to be borne. Half delirious with joy and transported with love, he had wandered the astral plain, beyond hunger and fatigue. All night he had heard the singing of the stars, and now he sang with them: Isolde, my lady. My lady and my love. As he rode to the port, he saw his past and his future becoming one seamless whole, a glittering web of hope and love fulfilled and life renewed. He saw Isolde robed in starlight and cloaked in her sun-bright hair, and he felt the trust and faith shining in her eyes. He had stood before her holding his soul in his hands and offered it up to her, perfect and whole.

He laughed to himself, but his voice cracked with strain. When she’d asked him to choose her before, why hadn’t he seen then where his true allegiance lay? In all the years that he’d faithfully served Mark, the King had never once treated him with honor, either as his lord or his uncle or the last of his kin. And all that time Isolde had been strong and devoted and as true as steel.

And now, would there be a child to reward their love? In a dream, he imagined making love to Isolde as he had so often done before, but this time slowly, adoringly, like a sacrament. He pictured her lithe body swollen in pregnancy and great with child, then he saw her holding a tiny babe in her arms. Her baby and his. His mind tottered and his soul soared again: Isolde, my lady. My lady, my only love.

Slowly he became aware of a dark shape on the road. With a shock, he saw it was a body lying in the middle of the track. Sprawled face- down in the dust, the well-dressed figure showed no sign of life. “Alas, poor knight,” Tristan cried.

Spurring forward, he threw himself hastily down from his horse. The knight lay in the dust, his cloak tangled over his head, much disheveled but with no sign of hurt. What had happened to bring him down like this?

He knelt by the prostrate form and reached for his pulse. “Can you hear me, sir?” he said urgently. “Are you—”

The next second, he felt the air stirring behind. Pure instinct sent him diving forward to avoid the blow. He rolled swiftly away, groping for the dagger at his belt. Even so, a sword slashed the angle of his shoulder, narrowly missing his neck. Scrambling up, he grabbed for the knight lying on the ground and sank the point of his dagger underneath his chin.

Instantly, the motionless form came to life. “Don’t kill me,” he screamed.

Now Tristan could see a tall, burly knight and a couple of shadowy figures lurking in the rear. Four of them? he grunted. Was that all? How many more of the murdering devils were hidden in the trees?

“Have at you!”

The big knight was charging at him with his sword upraised. But the two men in the rear did not back him up. Tristan renewed his hold on the knight in his grasp and dug the dagger into him for a second time. His own wound had opened and he could feel his blood running down, so he had little pity on the knight’s frantic cries. Tightening his grip, he braved the assailant still poised to attack.

“Halt, or he dies!” he cried. “Throw down your sword and come forward, whoever you are.”

The big knight threw a glance over his shoulder to the men in the rear. “Come on!” he roared.

But the two ruffians had had second thoughts. No one had told them how big and how fast and how dangerous this traveler would be. They had been promised an afternoon’s brutal entertainment at his expense, shedding his blood, not risking their own skins. Their lives were worth more than money. In mutual unspoken agreement, the shadowy figures faded into the dusk.

Tristan heaved his prisoner to his feet and jabbed him violently again. “Tell him!” he hissed.

“Do what he says, Taboral!” came a frenzied scream. “Or he’ll stab me to death!”

Taboral?

Then this wretch must be . . .

Tristan turned a wild gaze on the man in his grip. “Fer de Gambon!” he spat in disgust. “What in the name of the Gods are you doing here?”

“Don’t blame him, sir.” It was Taboral, his great face pale and sweating in the dusk. “It was all Sir Andred’s—”

“Hold your tongue, you great fool!” howled Fer de Gambon. “Don’t tell him anything.”

Tristan released his hold and threw de Gambon to the ground.

“He has said enough,” he ground out. “Indeed, he has told me all.” He advanced on Taboral in a killing rage. “Come, sir, your sword,” he said brusquely.

Without waiting for a reply, he tore the weapon from the big knight’s grasp, then turned back to Fer de Gambon and did the same. In a frenzy, he hacked both the blades to bits and threw the weapons to the ground.

He could see Fer de Gambon sweating in fear. “Sir Tristan, you’re a man of mercy,” the knight gabbled. “Now we’ve told you the truth, I pray you, grant us a boon.”

“A boon, a boon,” echoed Taboral, though Tristan could tell he had no idea what it was.

Fer de Gambon’s mean little eyes swiveled in his head, roaming from left to right in the hope of escape. “Sir, let us take service with you,” he begged. “We’ll follow you to the end of our days.”

Tristan looked at him with shuddering contempt. “Take service with me? Not if you were the last men in the world.”

Fer de Gambon’s terror rose. “But we can’t go back to Castle Dore.”

Tristan shook his head. “Go where you will. Assassins and turncoats have no place with me.”

Fer de Gambon fell to his knees and his voice rose to a wail. “Sir, we’ve failed the King. Our lives will be forfeit if we have to go back.”

Tristan stood very still. “The King?” he demanded in a voice not his own.

“Yes, yes,” de Gambon gabbled. “Sir Andred sent us here, but King Mark set him on.”

Tristan stared at him. “The King.” It was not a question. But he could not take it in.

“Yes, indeed.” Fer de Gambon gave a shaky laugh. “Who else would have ordered this ambush? You’re the King’s nephew, his heir. Do you think we’d have dared to attack you on Sir Andred’s word alone?”

“The King’s kin?” echoed Taboral owlishly. “We’d never have dared.”

The blood from Tristan’s wound was spotting the ground at his feet. He stared unseeing at the bright red drops as de Gambon’s words echoed round his head. Andred sent them here, but the King set them on. He knew it was true, it must be. These two cowards would never have dreamed of this by themselves.

Tristan felt his mind splitting. The dreadful knowledge worked through him, uprooting his heart, his soul. Containing the pain, he stood as still as a stone. What, Mark, his uncle, his only kin? His mother’s brother and his own liege lord? Mark wanted him dead?

He fought for breath. From now on, Isolde would be all the kin he had. Praise the Gods, she was worth ten thousand of Mark. Now he knew he was right to place his life in Isolde’s hands. To Ireland, then, he told himself shakily, as fast as you can. He turned away.

“Sir! Sir!” de Gambon bleated after him. “Have mercy on us, tell us what to do.”

“Be thankful you’ve escaped death by my sword,” he ground out, trembling with rage. “Make the wide world your home from this moment on, but never cross my path again as long as you live. Go now, before I punish you as you deserve. And may your Gods bring you to a better life.”

“Thank you!”

“Thank you, sir!”

Catching his horse, he swung heavily into the saddle as Fer de Gambon and Taboral scrambled away. In a dream of misery, he continued his journey to the port and took ship for the Western Isle.

The captain raised a hand to feel the wind and gave a broad grin. “She’s set fair, sir. We’ll be there very soon.”

Set fair.

Unexpectedly, Tristan found himself on the verge of tears. Goddess, Mother, he prayed, may my life’s voyage with my lady be the same. In all the unfairness of life, grant us dignity and honor, truth and trust.

Weeping and rejoicing, he set his face to the west.

Wait for me, lady.

My lady and my love.