Tristan and Iseult by Smith JD

Author:Smith, JD [Smith, JD]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Quinn Publications
Published: 2013-05-12T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Iseult

My stomach swims with nervousness on this boat with strangers. But even so I feel safer than I have felt since my father’s death. Does the King of Kernow realise what he has done for me? I am compelled to thank him, and promise myself I will make my gratitude known, that I will do my utmost to see him rewarded for his actions as hot tears threaten to tumble.

Looking across the sea to our destination I feel the eyes of the Britons upon me. My cheeks grow warm and I resolve to continue looking out and pretend I do not notice. My curiosity is strengthened by my pull toward these people, and eventually I turn to see the young warrior, Tristan, looking at me and smiling. It is reassuring and I feel myself relax as any uncertainty ebbs away. I smile back.

We reach the mainland and I see the monstrous building of stone that must be the Kernish stronghold. It rises from the rocks, daunting and fierce. Lord Morholt called these people savages and I supposed them to live in squalor, but I see they do not. I make sense of it now. These people on their island are falling to invaders just as Morholt fell in the fight between him and King Mark; they are people and they are not so different from us.

King Mark orders the men off the boat and we trudge towards the castle. Acha slips on the mud and before I have chance to double back to help her, Tristan curls his arms beneath hers and hauls her up.

‘Watch yourself,’ he warns, ‘we have had rain for weeks.’

‘As have we,’ I say as I wait for them. ‘Rain enough to drown a thousand men.’

I realise the stupidity of my words, speaking of drowning men and the implication that I might imply I wish it of those who killed my lord. I want to tell him that is not what I meant, to correct myself, but I find the feeling of stupidity increases.

‘You look half drowned yourself,’ he replies.

For a moment I am taken aback, before I realise he jests. We both chuckle. These Britons, it seems, are an easy people with whom to speak.

Acha pulls her arm from Tristan’s grasp and plods on. As the laughter ends I hear the sky hum, promising rain. I think of walking along the shore in Ireland, savouring the feel of water on my face and the freshness of the air, and by contrast the comfort of a warm blanket when I returned home. I think of it, though I do not yearn for it as I had. Curiosity of this place and its people interest me in a way I never thought they could.

I take hold of my skirts and increase my pace up the embankment. Acha is on one side, murmuring curses at the physicality of the walk, and Tristan strides easily on my other side.

‘Who are you?’ I ask.

‘Who?’

‘What is your place? You are important amongst the Kernish people?’

‘I am a warrior.

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