Tristan and Isolde

The leg­end of Tristan and Isolde is beloved the world over. The com­poser, Richard Wagner, even made a ver­sion of it into his opera, Tristan und Isolde. A recent film ver­sion starred Sophia Myles, James Franco, and Rufus Sewell. It is said that the orig­i­nal leg­end, a poem from which all oth­ers were derived, was lost to his­tory. No mat­ter the ver­sion, this tragic tale of mad love, betrayal, and sac­ri­fice has endured for cen­turies pre­cisely because of its uni­ver­sal themes and twist­ing plot.

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Artemis Rising Excerpt—Chapter 13

In Artemis Rising, the Tristan and Isolde leg­end is retold by the char­ac­ter, Conde Fernando Estrela. It is excerpted here:

In the coun­try of England, in the county of Cornwall, the Queen of Lyonesse gave birth to a son on her deathbed. She had only the time to name the child before she died, say­ing “I shall name you Tristan, for in sor­row was I taken from you and in sor­row do I go to my death.”

The King of Lyonesse had been killed by tyrants, so the heir to the throne became an orphan. The king’s mar­shal, the faith­ful Lord Roholt, was appointed to look after the child in secret, and as Tristan grew into a young man, he was taught the arts of knight­hood. Soon Tristan trav­eled to joust­ing tour­na­ments through­out the king­dom, and Lord Roholt at last deemed him ready to pay alle­giance to King Mark of Cornwall at Castle Tintagel.

When King Mark beheld Tristan, he thought at once that he was look­ing into his beloved sister’s eyes. Then he remem­bered that this young man was his nephew. Over time, the bond between Tristan and King Mark grew, and the king became like a father to him.

Tristan asked Lord Roholt to over­see Lyonesse in his stead so that he might stay in Cornwall and serve Mark, for the king was in need of a war­rior. The mur­der­ous Morholt of Ireland, Cornwall’s great­est enemy, demanded a trial by com­bat with the king, but Mark refused, request­ing that Tristan take his place in the duel, as he was the great­est swords­man in all the king­dom. Tristan accepted the challenge.

Morholt and Tristan dueled for three hard days, wound­ing each other to the point of death. At sun­set on the last day, Tristan stag­gered to the court with two swords, say­ing, ‘I have slain Morholt, and a chink of steel from my sword still lies in his head. Cornwall is freed from Morholt’s threat.’ At these words, Tristan col­lapsed into the arms of the king, hav­ing been poi­soned by Morholt’s venom-​​tipped sword.

Tristan’s grave wounds would not heal. The king’s physi­cians knew of only two peo­ple who had the cura­tive to save Tristan’s life: the sor­cer­ess Queen of Ireland and her daugh­ter, Isolde the Fair, famed heal­ers both. Yet in Ireland, Isolde and her mother the queen mourned for Morholt, who was their kin, and anger grew in their hearts for the man who killed him, though they knew him not.

Realizing that death awaited Tristan in Cornwall, King Mark sent him to Ireland with mis­giv­ings. Arriving on Irish shores dis­guised in peas­ant clothes, Tristan was brought to the queen’s cas­tle and into the skilled hands of Isolde the Fair.

As he lay sleep­ing, she worked her potions on his wounds, and when at last he awoke and gazed upon Isolde’s pale beauty and fair Irish hair, he kept secret his iden­tity. To avoid their sus­pi­cions, he sneaked away when he was able and sailed back to Cornwall.

When Tristan returned to Tintagel, the barons were hound­ing the king to marry and pro­duce an heir. King Mark told him that though he would wish it above all, Tristan could not be made his heir to the throne of Cornwall.

A plan for­mu­lated in his mind. He had heard rumors in Ireland that who­ever slew the dragon ter­ror­iz­ing the land would receive the hand of Isolde the Fair in mar­riage. Tristan knew that if he killed the dragon, the Queen of Ireland would approve the match between her daugh­ter and King Mark, as it would bring peace between the two countries.

He offered to return to Ireland to request the hand of Isolde in the king’s stead. The king agreed and Tristan went off to seek the dragon’s lair. For months, he searched, and at last he came upon the dragon hid­ing under the moun­tains. Tristan fought with valor against the great beast for hours. When his strength was spent from breath­ing the poi­so­nous fumes of the dragon’s breath, Tristan threw his sword into the heart of the beast, pierc­ing it to the death.

Tristan fell and lay trans­fixed from the poi­son. The queen’s men found him uncon­scious and brought him back to Isolde for heal­ing. As before, Isolde used her cura­tives to heal Tristan’s body, and he began to improve. She believed it to be fate that he was brought again into her life. Touched by his kind­ness and moved by her need to pro­tect and heal the man, Isolde became attached to him.

One day, she came before Tristan awak­ened and noticed his sword had fallen. Reaching to return it to its place among his things, she dis­cov­ered that a chink was miss­ing from the forged steel, which was the same shape as the piece found in Morholt’s skull dur­ing the bur­ial rites.

She real­ized at once that this man had killed her kins­man, and pick­ing up Tristan’s sword, she raised it to his neck to strike him dead for his betrayal. When the blade touched his skin, Tristan awoke.

“You lied to me!” Isolde cried.

“I had no choice, my lady. I had to fight. The honor I pledged to my king demanded it. Morholt would have done the same for your mother, the queen.”

Though Isolde knew it to be true, anger stirred her heart. “You kept your iden­tity from me like a coward.”

“Forgive me, Isolde. I wanted to pro­tect you from pain. Killing comes with a ter­ri­ble price. Avenging your kins­man with my death would not bring him back to life.”

Then Tristan reached out to her, and revealed the love for her that had been grow­ing in his heart. Bewitched by his words and by her own love for him, Isolde remem­bered that Tristan was to be her hus­band now that he had slain the dragon. She stayed her hand and low­ered the sword.

Arethusa could not tear her gaze away from the conde. She saw Tristan and Isolde in his eyes, their bod­ies mov­ing first in anger, now in love. She pic­tured her­self there, too, in Isolde’s place. But for her the betrayal had been a stone in a boy’s fist as he stood in an orphan­age court­yard ready to strike. She wanted to throw it back at him, like Isolde with the sword. But then the festa dance flashed before her eyes, and she felt Tristão’s arms around her, saw the deep regret for what he had done. Arethusa looked at Tristão, and the sad­ness in his eyes told her that he was lin­ger­ing some­where in those mem­o­ries too.

The conde’s cough­ing broke through Arethusa’s reverie. He cleared his throat and began to read again.

During Tristan’s days of recov­ery, Isolde spent every wak­ing moment with him and their love grew deeper. Though it tore him in two, the time soon came for Tristan to per­form his duty as King Mark’s emis­sary. He loved Isolde, but he had no right to her, and honor bade him ful­fill his promise to his king.

Tristan at last came before the queen and pro­posed an alliance of mar­riage between King Mark and Isolde, to bring peace to the two king­doms. The queen approved the match, but Isolde’s heart filled with rage as she fled the throne room.

When Tristan reached her, she struck his face. “You deceived me. I thought you loved me, but you came only to give me away to your king. I should never have trusted you.”

“I didn’t mean to betray you. I love you, Isolde, more than my own soul, but I can­not have you. I’ve sworn an oath to King Mark.”

“Would that you had sworn your oath to me.”

“You can­not know how I wish that . . . but it is done. I promised to bring you back to my king, and I must.”

“I have loved you against my will. And now I wish I had never met you,” she said, storm­ing away.

“As the weeks of prepa­ra­tion went by, the queen per­ceived her daughter’s unhap­pi­ness, but assumed it was because she would soon wed a man she had never met. Thus, the queen brewed a love potion for Isolde to drink on her wed­ding night, declar­ing, “For those who drink this wine-​​potion, their desire will never waver. Their love will never wane.” The queen gave the potion to Isolde’s maid, Brangaine, bid­ding her to hide it until the wed­ding night, when she would pour the wine into their goblets.

“Brangaine joined Isolde and Tristan on the ship to Cornwall and hid the potion in a secret com­part­ment. One dreary night, as Tristan paced the deck in his lone­li­ness and frus­tra­tion, he found Isolde weep­ing alone.

“My lady,’ he said, “why do you cry? Is it because you will soon marry a man you do not know, or are you home­sick for Ireland?’ Isolde said noth­ing as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. She was in love with Tristan, but she knew it would do no good to talk of it.

“Isolde?” he urged.

“It is noth­ing,” she said at last. “I wish for some wine to take the chill from the night wind.”

“My lady, I will seek out a drink for you,” Tristan said, and he went below in search of wine for his lady. He searched long and finally uncov­ered a bot­tle of strong brew smelling of herbs and laven­der. Bringing the wine to Isolde, they spent the night drink­ing of its sweet­ness. They didn’t know it was the brew meant for Isolde’s wed­ding night. The potion held them in its spell through the long night, bewitch­ing them with an irre­versible love.

When Brangaine came to fetch her lady at dawn, she saw the empty bot­tle of the queen’s love potion. Horrified, the maid took her mis­tress below.

As Tristan awoke the next morn­ing, his pas­sions over­whelmed him. In agony, he burned with an insa­tiable mad­ness until he could no longer keep away. He went to Isolde at once to tell her the truth of his desire.

Her eyes gleamed and her limbs trem­bled. “You come to me thus afflicted? Do not say these things! I should have let you die for killing my uncle. Your wounds were mor­tal. I could have ended your suf­fer­ing and mine. But now I love you against my rea­son, against my con­science. I am your slave, tor­mented and cast adrift on a sea of—“

“Love? Passion? Desire? I know those emotions—I know you, my lady—though you would wish me far from you.”

“No. I can­not wish that. I love you—love you to the point of madness.”

He reached for her and they lay together, afloat on a calm sea beneath stars that seemed to shine only for them. Tristan knew they were now joined in a love that would carry them to either death or love. He invited them both, for with­out Isolde the Fair by his side, he would not have the strength to live.

On the night of her wed­ding, Isolde could not bear to con­sum­mate her mar­riage with the king. She met with Tristan in secret and asked Brangaine to take her place next to King Mark, who was drunk with love and mer­ri­ment. And so it went for many days, Brangaine tak­ing her mistress’s place in a dark­ened room and Isolde meet­ing Tristan in the orchard beyond the cas­tle walls.

But soon they were found out by jeal­ous courtiers intent on dis­cred­it­ing Tristan to the king. The lovers decided they could no longer go on, and Tristan had to leave her or death would come to them both.

Before they parted ways, they pledged their love anew. Tristan said, “I can­not let you go, my queen, with­out promis­ing you my love and my life. If ever you need me, seek me out and I will come to you.”

With tears stream­ing down her cheeks, Isolde pressed a ring into Tristan’s hand. “Keep this ring as a token of my undy­ing love, and if you would seek me, send this ring ahead so I will know you are coming.”

They whis­pered their good­byes, and Tristan boarded a ship bound for France where he offered his ser­vice to the king of Brittany. In his lone­li­ness for Isolde, he soon became friends with the king’s son, Kaherdin, and they went off to fight the ene­mies of the king­dom together.

Through their many bat­tles they grew as close as broth­ers, and one day Kaherdin intro­duced Tristan to his sis­ter. Tristan was star­tled when he first heard her name, Isolde of the White Hands. The mem­ory of his own Isolde the Fair was brought full fresh to his mind. Yet he grew to know and love the French beauty, admir­ing her intel­li­gence and grace. And when the king asked him to take his daugh­ter to wife, Tristan accepted, feel­ing that he had finally put his love for Isolde the Fair behind him.

They were mar­ried, but on the night of their wed­ding, he came across Isolde the Fair’s ring in one of his old trunks, and he was over­come with guilt at his betrayal. His love for the lady he had left behind stabbed him through the heart. He could not go through with the con­sum­ma­tion, but nei­ther could he tell his new bride of his doomed love to a mar­ried woman. He lied, telling Isolde of the White Hands that he had made a vow to God many years before not to con­sum­mate any mar­riage for one year.

Isolde of the White Hands acqui­esced to his vow, but she soon became despon­dent, and her iso­la­tion shown through her eyes. Sensing his sister’s sad­ness, Kaherdin con­fronted Tristan about it. At last, Tristan revealed his love for Isolde the Fair.

“You must depart for Tintagel and seek the queen,” Kaherdin advised. “If you find that your love for each other is undimmed by time, then you must let my sis­ter go. But if you find that Isolde the Fair’s love has cooled, then rec­on­cile your feel­ings for her and return to my sis­ter, lov­ing her as she should be loved.”

Tristan agreed, and though he found Queen Isolde embit­tered by the news that he had for­saken her and mar­ried another, their pas­sions besieged them and their love burned bright once more. But they could not escape the fear of dis­cov­ery, and so after three days, Tristan bade her good­bye again, say­ing, “I must go. There is one path for us now, the road of sor­row and regret. When I come to the end of my path, I will call to you for one final farewell.”

“I will not fail,” Isolde said.

When Tristan returned to Brittany, he grieved for Isolde, and found nei­ther solace in the arms of his wife nor in the com­pany of his friends. He began to fade, his desire to live less­en­ing day by day. Even the hunt and bat­tle held no joy for him, and thus, one day his enemy’s spear poi­soned him to the heart. Knowing his end was near, he gave Kaherdin the ring and asked him to fetch Isolde.

“My friend, I will do what you bid, and if Queen Isolde agrees to come, I will wave a white flag from the mast­head. If she does not, I will raise a black flag. Have faith, Tristan, that your Isolde will come for you.”

As the days slipped away, Tristan became too weak to watch at the win­dow for Isolde. He asked his wife to watch for him, but her bit­ter­ness grew against the woman who had stolen her husband’s love. When she caught sight of the white flag raised high on the approach­ing ship, revenge filled her heart, and as she rose to leave him, she cried, “The ship comes, my lord, but the flag that waves is black!”

At his wife’s words, Tristan lay back, wracked with pain and despair. And as Queen Isolde dis­em­barked from the ship and made her way to his cham­ber, Tristan gave up his life. When she found him there, pros­trate and star­ing into the beyond with wide eyes, she wept in her tor­ment and died of grief beside him.

When King Mark of Cornwall heard the news of their deaths, he came to under­stand their long-​​suffering love. He took their bod­ies back to Cornwall and buried them together in a hid­den grove of trees. Years later, a vine grew from Tristan’s grave and a rose from Isolde’s grave. The vine and rose grew toward each other, their stems inter­twin­ing, until at last, in death, Tristan and Isolde were one.