Chapter 1-To the Death

 

Marhaus, the current prince of Ireland, looked over at the boy who dared to challenge him. He was tall and skinny with dark brown hair that grew a little past his ears, deep russet eyes and a fair complexion. He was dressed all in black from his boots to his cloak. On his face he had two tattoos, on underneath each eye, shaped like that of two black triangles turned on their sides, with the bottom one longer than the top by about a millimeter, with a thin, curved line running through their tips. He had called himself Tristan, Prince of Lyoness. But he was no more a prince than Marhaus’s brother, this he knew, since the Roman Empire controlled Lyoness and Tristan’s father, Blancheflor, was just another extension of Caesar’s arm, made to enforce Rome’s laws. At the feet of the boy stood a dog that came to about his knees. It’s head looked like that of a beagle’s except with long, floppy ears and the rest of its body was white with little black spots flecked here and there and a large, black patch covering the lower right side of its body and part of its stomach. He averted his gaze to his wife, Isuelt, who sat among the spectators who had already otherwise been gathered there for the four-day tournament that this Tristan has interrupted. Isuelt had her gaze locked on the youth, but Marhaus took no notice of it because so did the rest of the crowd. Isuelt was wearing a gown of rich purple that flowed down her like a waterfall. Her blond hair was hanging down to her waist, showing the beauty of her wavy hair as it blew on the wind. Around her neck she wore a variety of jewels all strung onto an ornate chain that held her dark purple cloak in place. Her complexion was clear, as it had always been since Marhaus had met her and her cheeks were a light rose color. On her head she wore a circlet of gold that restricted her honey tresses from falling in her face. Behind her sat her faithful handmaiden, Hannah, a Jewess, although her identity as such was kept quiet since the Irish were not particularly fond of that race.

“I’ll ask you again, great Marhaus, Prince of these fair people, will you accept my challenge?” came the voice of the lad.

Marhaus drew his attention away from Isuelt and back to Tristan. “And what do you hope to gain through this fight, Tristan De Lyoness? Riches, fame?”

“Neither, great prince. I seek out something greater than jewels, gold, and notice by the people.”

“Then what is it you wish to have if you were to win this battle?”

“Yonder fair maiden, the Princess Isuelt.”

A gasp ran through the crowd at the boldness of the youth. Every man, woman and child who dwelled in the fair land of Ireland knew that Isuelt was Marhaus’s greatest treasure. They watched Marhaus, wondering what it was he would do next. No one who had challenged Marhaus for his wife had lived to tell the tale for when he fought for his wife, he fought with ferocity unknown to any man. Marhaus glanced up at Isuelt, who still had yet to take her eyes off Tristan. Anger welled up in him for her wished for her reassuring glance, but it came not. Pulling his sword from its sheath, he called out to Tristan, “And what do you intend to do with mine wife once you have defeated me?”

“Take her back to King Marc of Cornwall, my good uncle, for it was he who sent me to fetch for him a wife so fair, all of Rome would stop and marvel at her. So here I am and here I shall remain until the lovely Isuelt would return with me to my ships and return to Cornwall with me.”

“With these terms, I find myself comfortable. Now, brave prince, don any armor you might have need of and let us fight.”

Tristan nodded and returned to his horse, where he drew from its saddlebags a shirt of mail, a helm of fine steel, greaves and bracers. He took his cloak and sword off his back and slipped his hauberk on. Then, with the help of a page, he buckled on his greaves and bracers. Next he put on a leather cap and placed his helm over it and buckled it under his chin. After handing his page his cloak, he whispered something to him and then his dog. With long, graceful strides, he covered the few hundred feet between him and Marhaus in a matter of a few seconds. He grasped the handle of his dao and pulled it over his right shoulder and out in front him, waiting with the gleaming blade poised and ready. Hefting his shield up higher on his left arm and tightening his grip on his broadsword, Marhaus rushed toward Tristan, his sword raised above his head. He brought it down in a quick, swift motion that was barely visible to anyone. But, with an even faster motion, Tristan blocked the blow aside with little force put behind it at all. Acting quickly, he caused Marhaus to go on the defensive by swinging back at his shield. Just as he had planned, his agile sword slipped under the shield, catching the man in his arm and cutting the leather at the same time. Marhaus groaned in pain as he watched the shield fall to the ground, sending up a spray of dust. Blood dripped to the ground, but Marhaus seemed not to notice. Instead he swung at Tristan’s legs, hoping to cripple him. With a smile, Tristan jumped over the blade and landed without making any noise. Before the boy could recover completely from his jump, Marhaus struck out at his sword arm, cutting open three inches of flesh and loosening his greave. Tristan ignored his wound completely and smacked Marhaus on the head, temporarily dazing him. Taking advantage of the time he had, Tristan struck out at the man’s left leg and cut through his boot and leg, spraying the ground with fresh crimson blood. From its place by the horse, the dog let out a small whine at the smell of blood. The page leaned down and scratched the dog under the chin, calming it instantly.

With the new pain surging through his body, the Irish man woke from his daze and struck back at Tristan, his bleeding leg making him so clumsy he fell face first in the dirt. Without hesitation, Tristan stabbed him through the back, killing him, and spraying his face with the sticky, scarlet liquid. Silence greeted the victor as they looked at the body of their fallen prince. Tristan wiped his sword clean on Marhaus’s tunic and returned it to its sheath. “Good Princess, let us not tarry this day. Gather what it is you wish to take with you to Cornwall. I will come for you in one hour.” With that he turned and walked out of the lists, his horse, dog and page following.

With the mysterious prince now gone, Isuelt stood and walked into the lists where the body of her fallen husband lay. She fell to her knees beside him and turned his corpse over covering her hands and dress with blood in the process. She looked into his sable-colored eyes, forever stricken with the fear of Tristan’s blade. Using the first two fingers of her left hand, she closed his eyes and sighed. Within the four months they had been married, Isuelt had only been happy a few times as a sixteen-year-old girl married to a thirty-two-year-old could be. A single tear fell down her cheek for although she had not loved him as she should have, he was still her uncle. She heard the sound of light, hurried footsteps coming towards her and then the feel of gentle hands on her back.

“Hannah, I’m fine,” she said, confidence in her words showing through her voice.

“My Lady, if we are to be ready to leave before Prince Tristan comes for you, we should not tarry.”

“She is not going,” came a voice from behind them.

Isuelt turned to look at her father. “Father, you head Marhaus agree to the terms Tristan laid out. If I do not go with him, then we risk going to war going to war with not only Cornwall but also Lyoness. And you know as well as I do that, if the need be, they have the entirety of the Roman military at their disposal and that is an army we cannot hope to defeat.”

Her father seemed to reason at her logic for a moment before speaking. “Then I will fight for you.”

“No! I will not let any more blood be spilt on my account. How many men did Marhaus slay who dared to challenge his right to me? Countless men, father, and now Marhaus has been added to their number and I will not have you added to their number as well.” In her mind, her head told her to be reasonable and to listen to her father but she shoved those thoughts aside with all her might.

“I will not let you be taken away to some strange land just because Marhaus was bested by some boy. If this King Marc wants you so badly that he would result to bloodshed by another’s hand, then let him come here and fight for you himself.”

Isuelt stood to her feet and looked her father straight in the eye. “I would rather have it this way, father, that any other. Come, Hannah, we must prepare to leave.” Gathering her skirts up in her left hand, she rushed out of the lists with Hannah following closely behind. She walked over to her waiting horse where the captain of the guard greeted her.

“Does Lord Marhaus not accompany you today?” he asked as he helped her onto her horse.

She shook her head. “My father will explain our current situation to you later. In the meantime, it is of the utmost importance that you return me to the inn with all haste.” Hannah mounted up on her horse.

“Of course, My Lady. No time shall be wasted.” He bowed to her and then began giving out orders for the rest of her guard to mount up. Before long, the party started forward at a fast trot.

“My Lady, might I ask you a question?” Hannah asked.

“You may, good handmaiden.”

“Am I to continue my service to you?”

“If the prince should permit it, yes, you shall.”

“Are you scared, My Lady?”

“Aye. I am both scared and excited at the same time for the adventure to come.”  

“But where is this Cornwall over which your new husband rules?”

“If my predictions are correct, perhaps no father south than Briton?” She breathed a deep sigh. “Who knows? Rome rules a great many countries now. It could be anywhere within their borders.”

“It cannot be very far away from Lyoness for I believe I remember this Tristan mentioning that Marc is his uncle. That must mean that at one point, one of the kings split his land in two, creating Cornwall and Lyoness.”

“Who knows? It could be anywhere.” She leaned her head against her chest and closed her eyes.

“Are you tired, My Lady?”

Isuelt smiled at her handmaiden. “No, I was just thinking.” They slowed their horses and then stopped them in front of the Brandywine Inn.

Hannah dismounted first and Isuelt followed, then they hurried into the inn and up the stairs. She had wasted enough time as it was arguing with her father and she intended to waste no more of it. She burst into her room and found that the servants had drawn up a bath and laid a fresh gown of blue silk out for her. Grateful for their quick thinking, she had Hannah help her undress and then proceeded to wash the blood and dust from her face, hands, hair and feet. When she had finished, Hannah helped her dress not only into the gown but also into a fur-lined cloak and a pair of sturdy boots. All around her, the maids hurried to pack up her things. As soon as they had finished, she dismissed them, giving them specific orders to return to the palace, pack up every possession she had and send it thence to King Marc’s castle in Cornwall. She could see the questions in their eyes as they bowed or curtsied respectively and then left but she knew they would not ask them. On their way out they passed a messenger boy. He bowed and then said, “My Lady, Prince Tristan De Lyoness requests entry.”

“Permit him,” she replied, standing from the bed.

The messenger nodded and motioned to an unseen figure in the hallway. Tristan appeared in front of her dressed the same as he had been when she had last seen him leaving the lists only he was clean of all dust and blood, his hauberk, helm and braces were gone and his hair was neatly combed. Behind him came his dog, its long tail wagging. He bowed to her then made a quick motion to his dog and it extended its tow front legs out in front of it and lowered it head to the ground in a form of bow.

“Your animal is well-trained,” Isuelt commented.

“I expect only the best from Hodain if he is to be a trustworthy and faithful companion,” came his simple reply. “Are you prepared to set out?”

“Yes, I am. I have told my servants to send the remainder of my belongings to your uncle’s castle in Cornwall.”

Tristan nodded slightly. “Will your handmaiden be joining us as well?”

“Yes. I would have no other than my faithful Hannah.” Hannah blushed under her dark skin and looked away.

“I trust you have your own horse.”

“I do, but I shall be riding sidesaddle, as is proper.”

“If that is the type of travel that suits you then you may go that way.”

“Thank you. You are most kind, Lord Prince.”

“Please, call me Tristan.”

She nodded her face expressionless.

“Shall we be off then?”

“Yes, we shall. Hannah, have the guards bring down my bags.”

“Of course, My Lady,” she said as she curtsied and then hurried from the room.

Tristan turned on his heel and walked out and Isuelt, though reluctant to go, followed him out. The warrior ignored the curious stares and whispers that were directed at him and walked with his head held high and his eyes straight forward. Isuelt admired this with great wonder since, if it had been Marhaus and she that the stares and whispers were directed at, he would have yelled at them all to mind their own business with his sword at their throats. She heard the sound of a blade coming out of its sheath and she turned her head in the direction of the sound. Three men had drawn their swords and were walking quietly towards Tristan.

“Tristan!” she yelled, but he had already sensed the danger.

He pulled out his sword with a swift motion and blocked then cut down the first man, severally wounding him without even looking at him. He caught the second man in the collarbone with a dagger he pulled from his belt and threw with deadly accuracy. He knocked the sword from the third man’s hand and lifted the curved end of his sword to the man’s neck. “You are lucky, all three of you. Lyoness’s princes are trained to kill every one of their opponents. But I will not spill any more blood than my uncle intended.” He lowered his sword and then sheathed before walking over to the man who had the dagger imbedded in his shoulder. “Here, let me help you.” With expert hands, he pulled the dagger out of the man. Then he reached into the navy blue pouch on his belt, pulled out an herb, crushed it between his fingers and then placed it in the wound. “This is all I can do for you. That should stop the bleeding and reduce any swelling, but you should go see a proper healer.” He walked over to the second man and did the same with his wound and then repeated his message. Then he picked up his bloody dagger, walked outside, and wiped it clean on the grass.

“Why did you do that?” Isuelt asked as she joined him outside.

“Because I did not want to wound anyone else while I was here but since I had to, I decided to help them as well.”

Isuelt looked down at her feet, surprised at his answer. “Tristan, how old are you?”

He stood to his feet and returned his dagger to its rightful place. “Fourteen.”

Isuelt raised her eyebrows and looked Tristan over. “I thought you to be older.”

“Many have had that same thought about me.” He walked over to his horse and mounted up. “Now, if we may be going. My captain is expecting my return to by nightfall to our ships.”

She turned to her captain. “Follow me to the docks and then return to my father. After we get there I will no longer have need for your services.”

“Of course, My Lady,” he answered as he watched two of his men secure her saddlebags onto a packhorse. She could hear the disappointment in his voice.

She laid her hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate everything you and your men have done to ensure my safety. I am in your debt.”

“No debt, My Lady. There is no debt.” He helped her up onto her horse as Hannah mounted her own.

“Then there shall be no debt.” She smiled at him. “Good-bye.” The command was given to set out and as they started out, Isuelt felt everything she had ever known slipping away from her.

 

*          *          *

Isuelt felt someone gently shaking her and she opened her eyes. Dark surrounded her and she could hear the sound of waves and the soft murmur of men’s voices. From the light of the moon she could see Hannah’s face in front of hers.

“My Lady, Tristan asks that you join him on the ship now.”

She rubbed her eyes, sat up and looked up at the sky; the moon was full. “How long was I asleep?”

“Since sundown; perhaps three or four hours.” Hannah followed her gaze to the small fleet of ships that bobbed up and down on the ocean waves. Three lone figures stood on the deck of the largest ship, one of them being a dog.

Isuelt stood from her sleeping mat and walked toward the ship. Her guard had already left and the horses had been relieved of their loads and were tied to the dock posts. She walked out onto the dock, up the ramp leading to the largest ship, and onto the deck. Tristan, Hodain and the third man Isuelt assumed to be the captain, bowed to her in turn.

“Princess, this is my captain, Balek,” Tristan said motioning to the man.

He was medium-sized in stature, had shoulder-length red hair and a scruffy beard. He wore a pair of weathered green breeches and a long-sleeved brown tunic that he had rolled the sleeves up to the elbows on. On his feet he wore a pair of simple leather sandals, darkened with dust and grime.

Isuelt was daunted by the look of the man, but she curtsied all the same. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain Balek.”

“As it is to meet you, good princess. I hope you find the accommodations on the ship quite comfortable. It is the best Lyoness could provide.”

“I thought I was going to Cornwall.”

“Au contraire, princess. Cornwall and Lyoness are joint countries, both under the protection of King Marc until Tristan is able to ascend to his father’s throne.”

“When would that be?”

“When I have taken a wife and my uncle decides to give up hi position as Lord Regent Protector,” Tristan answered for Balek as he scratched Balek behind the ears.

“How long should that be?”

Tristan shrugged. “As long as it takes, I suppose.”

“Your Highness, I am sure you are tired from you long journey and the day’s events. One of my men will escort you to the captain’s cabin,” Balek said as a sailor maybe about the age of twenty or so descended from the crow’s nest. Balek motioned from Isuelt to the man and he nodded and led her away, Hannah following in their stead.

“She seems well-suited for Marc. She will make him a fine queen,” Balek commented once they had disappeared into the cabin.

“Aye. I am glad my uncle’s scheme worked out. I would not have liked to have escaped hanging onto life by a thread, again.” Tristan ran his hands through his hair, tousling it.

“Your uncle takes too much advantage of you, lad. You ought to refuse every once and a while for without an heir, Lyoness would crumble completely.”

Tristan knew exactly what Balek spoke. Since his father’s death of a horrible illness three years before, the kingdom of Lyoness had been crumbling on its foundation.  From lack of attention to needs to taking advantage of Lyoness’s vast store of emergency funds, the people were growing more and more anxious for Tristan’s ascension to the throne so that they would hopefully prosper once more. Without the proper placement of patrols, crime was beginning to take over little by little as was drunkenness and uncleanness. Churches were being looted for their sacred treasures and expensive herbs and stores of books, which disgusted the prince even more than his lack of judgment. All this things he had been told by word of the faithful few, such as Balek, and he knew it that it had to be stopped. “I will try speaking with my uncle once more when we have returned to Cornwall.”

“Tristan, forgive me for being crude, but how many times have you tried this and failed? What do you expect to get out of it? Another tour of the towns and cities and a month-long stay at your palace to show the people that they have hope of a ruler coming to them when Marc finally decides it is time to give up the reins that he barely had a hold on in the first place? Please, be realistic, Tristan. I think it is time you started defying your uncle’s commands and snatching those reins from him yourself.”

“You say these things, Balek, but I am only but a youth. Yes, it is true that those who only wish for peace and prosperity once more would accept me with open arms but what of those who do not? I cannot call to the Romans for aide unless it has my uncle’s seal of approval on it.”

“You would not need Marc’s seal on it if you were king.” Balek wore a mischievous grin that made Tristan nervous.

“Balek, you know as well as I that Marc would go directly to Rome to petition my right as king and that he would most likely win for those in charge of that palpable government would be more likely to lean on the side of a man with supposed experience then a lad with no more experience than his studies under his father. I am sorry, but I do not believe that this is a fight we can win no matter how hard we try.”

“You have made a good argument, my boy, but you forget the one thing that you did not mention to Isuelt; your father penned a final letter before he died in which he stated, ‘In the time that my only son and heir, Tristan De Lyoness, deems himself worthy and ready to assume the throne, then let it be known to every man, woman, and child that within thirty days of his declaration he shall be crowned King De Lyoness and King De Cornwall will no longer, in any right, be able to pass another law, spend another coin belonging to Lyoness, or use a single man in the Lyoness military for his advantage or the people’s.’ So?”

“So, my uncle has this letter in his possession and there is no way we would be able to obtain it.” Tristan slid down the mast until he felt the cold deck under him and Hodain’s head in his lap.

“But was there not a second copy penned?”

“I believe there was but-”

“And was that copy not put into the hands of a certain Lord Peter De Rufus-Bayet of Lyoness?”

“Even it was, Lord Peter is faithful neither to me or to Marc. The only thing he is loyal to is his money and I would have to give him half of the wealth of my kingdom just to obtain it.”

“Which is exactly why your father gave him the copy!”

“So our kingdom would loose its wealth?” Tristan asked, confusion etched on his face.

“No, no, no. It was because he knew his baby brother better than anyone, with the exception of their mother and father, of course, and he knew that his brother would not make so serious a mistake as that one.” Balek pulled a pipe from the pouch at his belt, stuffed it full of a putrid-smelling weed, lit it, and then puffed on it, releasing a hazy smoke into the air in front of his face.

“But why would I make such a mistake?” Tristan’s eyelids were beginning to droop and he was growing irritated with this conversation. Sensing his irritation, Hodain let out a low, menacing growl.

Balek took a deep breath before speaking again. “You would not, of that I am sure. Go and rest now, young prince, for the journey ahead is long and full of unexpected twists and turns.”

Tristan nodded and stood, stretching his sore limbs. “Good-night, my friend; and do not dwell too much on these thing for when the One Who Created Us intends for me to take the throne, it will be thus. Do not rush His timing. You know as well as I that it will not end well.” With that he retreated below deck to the place where the rest of the crew was sleeping in their canvas hammocks, being rocked gently back and forth like small babies by the gentle sway of the ocean. Tristan lowered himself into one and as he closed his eyes, he felt Hodain jump in beside him. Then he drifted off to sleep. Above, on deck, Balek stood with his back leaning on the mast and his pipe in his mouth, its red embers glowing softly in the darkness of the night. And Tristan’s words continued to ring in his head; “But why would make a mistake like that?” He shook his head and then whispered, “Not a mistake, lad, a sacrifice.”

 

Tristan felt a jolt as the carriage came to a stop in front of a small country home with a dirt path leading up to it. He looked down at himself and saw that he was wearing clothes so ornate that he would not be able to describe them. What was the occasion that he had need of such clothes? He looked over when he heard the door open and the horseman helped out a girl dressed even more beautifully than he was. From what he could see of her, she had long, flowing hair like that of a sable waterfall and she was of about medium height. She ran up the path and into the house. Confused, yet led by his curiosity to discover her identity, he exited the carriage and followed her in. When he made it inside, he saw no sign of the girl but instead he was greeted by a couple well-breached in their fifties. The woman was oddly short and her face was still clear of any signs of aging although her hair was silvery white. The man was a good foot and a half taller than the woman and he was large in all respects with curly gray hair covering his head and his face was wrinkled like an old shirt. He looked past them and saw the girl making her way up the last few stairs on a stairwell to his right. Politely excusing himself, he bounded after her, taking the stairs to at a time. He heard the girl’s laugh like a burbling creek just as he placed his hand on shoulder and began to turn her around. But, just as he did, he woke with a start, disturbing Hodain. Cursing himself, he lay back down and returned to his dreams.