CHAPTER IV

On the next day, Isolde felt a renewed strength within her. She even allowed Wylla and Mäe to take her time washing her body and fixing her clothes and hair. As soon as they were done, the Cornish Queen descended down the stairs of the main building and started to walk around the village. From time to time a different Sarmatian knight came into view. First it was Gawain, who was cleaning his dangerous-looking axe with loving gestures. Then it was Galahad and Lamorak, who was looking for Gawain. After that he encountered Lancelot flirting with a young girl who sported blushing cheeks. Right next to them stood Bors with a red-headed woman surrounded by nine children, and close by she could see Dagonet talking to Percival and Arthur. Of Tristan there was no sign.

"Lady! Lady!" she heard Bors calling to her "Lady, may I introduce my… Vanora?" he finished with a hearty chuckle. Isolde smiled: it was hard not to do so around the burly man.

Vanora gazed at her with clever eyes and her lips suddenly broke into a warm smile. Though she had looked at first like a common woman, now she felt as bright and comfortable as the Sun itself. Isolde did not find it hard to understand what it was that had attracted Bors.

"And these are my children" the knight made a general gesture. He was obviously very proud of his offspring. Isolde had to admit, it was extensive. A pang of guilt spread within her chest. She fought to control her expression, but she noticed Vanora's features change into one of understanding.

"Well, my Lady, I was just telling my man here that he should stop pestering me while I work! He can't seem to keep his hands off me, especially while I have things to do! Perhaps he'll listen to you!" Vanora scolded her lover and winking at the Cornish Queen. It surprised her at first, that familiarity, but it was so welcome that Isolde found herself answering accordingly.

"Why, Bors! You should let a decent woman work! Don't you have work to do? Why don't you take care of all those children? I'm sure Vanora will appreciate the consideration!" she replied in mock anger.

Bors laughed out loud and nodded before he excused himself and chased his offspring away from the tavern.

"I swear, sometimes I think I'm educating him along with all those kids" Vanora sighed "He can be tiresome. All knights" she added, her eyes significantly travelling to where Lancelot stood "can be tiresome".

Lancelot smirked and kissed the girl's cheek before he bid them farewell.

"Are you feeling alright, my Lady?" Vanora asked, her eyes worried.

"I'm sorry if I haven't met you until now. I was feeling ill. But please, don't bother with titles. Address me as Isolde"

Vanora smiled warmly at her. Isolde discovered that her motherly expression was what made her so endearing. She found herself wanting more of those smiles.

"The boys started to worry about you, you know? When they met you, they couldn't stop talking about how wonderful you were and then you disappeared and they felt as if they'd offended you somehow"

"Not at all" Isolde replied quickly "I was just… resting from the journey"

Vanora's face showed her disbelief, but the woman didn't press the issue and Isolde felt relieved. Although she longed to tell someone of her feelings, somehow she knew that what Vanora knew, Bors knew. She didn't want any trouble to ensure between her husband and the knights. She did not doubt who would win, but it would be unwise to let these people, who were not even her own kin, know about her own marriage issues.

Without not so much as a warning, Isolde felt a presence behind her. She turned slowly, knowing fully well who it was watching her: Jago, her husband's closest advisor and the commander of Cornwall's small army; and her shadow. Back at Cornwall, he'd always been around her, sniffing, spying, and ready to tell Mark of whatever he felt she did was unsuitable or indecent. His dreamy expression fooled many people, but not her. She knew he didn't like her one bit, and she also knew why. Jago was a Christian. He was the one who had told Mark to strike a deal with the Pope of Rome. Ever since she'd arrived, Jago had felt the compulsion of pushing her further and further into a submissive and subservient role, where he thought she "belonged". Her status as Irish princess was enough to send him over the edge and he'd voted fiercely against the marriage when it was first suggested.

"I thought we had agreed that you wouldn't venture out on your own" he told her in his deceptive soft voice.

"I agreed to no such thing" Isolde answered, her voice steady and proud "You tried to impose that on me. I never agreed. I will never agree to a single thing you say"

"Pagan whore" he spat, his eyes glazing in fury.

Isolde felt something on her shoulder. She smiled. Baile had finally come back. The hawk hooted and spread its wings, flashing his piercing beak.

"A whore and a witch" Jago went on "How fitting"

Out of thin air, she heard a sword being unsheathed and felt herself being pulled backwards. The shape of Tristan came before her, his back turned to her, his weapon high. She couldn't see his face, but Isolde was sure that the expression would be, at the very least, terrifying.

The people around the market had stopped the loud ruckus. Only silence met the sharp sound of the curved sword as Tristan wielded it before him. It took a moment for the scout's brothers to join in. They didn't need to know what had happened: Tristan seemingly beginning a fight was so rare and unexpected that there had to be a good reason for it. He wouldn't threaten a king's subject for just anything. He knew what was at stake.

"What is going on here?" a loud voice interrupted the scene.

Arthur and Mark had arrived. It took only one second for the former to understand the situation, but the latter couldn't find any sense in it.

"What is going on here?" he repeated, his voice taking a harder edge.

They all turned to Tristan, expecting an answer. Just as they all watched him, he shifted to gaze at Isolde, arching his eyebrow. He was daring her to come forward. In one simple instant, he'd grasped the seriousness of the situation; he'd perceived the fact that, despite constant verbal abuse, Isolde had never once told her husband. Now was the time to tell.

"He'd insulted me. The knight Tristan defended my honour" she said in a clear voice.

Mark turned to look at Jago, who held his gaze steadily. After a short while, Mark lowered his eyes. Isolde felt a cold bite in her chest: if the King was ready to bow under Jago's dominance in such a public place, she was lost. All was lost. Her disappointment was clear when she coolly met Mark's gaze. She couldn't even find the words to express her feelings of shame for her husband. A husband with no strength of his own, no ideas of his own. Cornwall would be ruled by a Christian king, but it would not be Mark. It would be Jago. How long before the man took the city and its inhabitants in the physical sense? Would her husband be so weak as to give her up too? In his eyes she knew the truth. Yes. He couldn't deny Jago anything.

Isolde barely found the ability to turn around and walk towards the stables. Her hands felt useless as she tried to fasten the saddle around her horse. Firm fingers began to finish what she'd distractedly started. Her eyes turned sideways: Dagonet and Lancelot were silent as they helped her up. Arthur was also there. He looked at her before he briefly nodded. And then she set off. Her stallion galloped as fast as he possibly could.