Read Online Tristan and Isolde - 02 - The Maid of the White Hands: The Second of the Tristan and Isolde Novels by Rosalind Miles - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rosalind Miles
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was happening.
Tolen drinking again? When he was drunk already, in a place like this? Didn’t he see the sheer drop at the side of the track? Breccan’s fury peaked. Gods above, if his horse shied, he could kill them all!
Tolen released a fat belch of contentment. “Listen to me, little brother,” he began expansively. He laid down his reins on the patient horse’s neck and took another deep pull on his wine. “You need to learn a thing or two from me—”
Breccan looked into the chasm at the edge of the path. “Tolen, take care. One slip and—”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Tolen laughed nastily. “You’re not King yet.” He poured a steady stream of wine straight down his throat. “And you’re not going to be if you keep on like this.”
“How so?” Only Tolen’s guardian angel would have recognized the shadow of gathering menace in Breccan’s voice. But any hope of protection was far away.
Tolen’s face flushed. “You won’t do it, brother,” he said thickly, “because you don’t understand the game. The Christians don’t care about you, you’re nothing but a petty warlord to them. And you think you can make yourself Isolde’s chosen one? She won’t look at you, she’s already married to a king. If you take her by force, you’ll have all Ireland on your back. But you don’t see any of that. You’re a fool, little brother, and you always were.”
With the sense of a speech well made, Tolen fumbled for his bottle again.
Oh, the comfort of cold steel. Breccan curled his fingers back into his sleeve and coaxed his hidden blade down into his hand. Come, my little love, time to go to work. Easy now, that’s right. Then as I laugh and clap Tolen’s horse on the rump
—go!
There was a terrible scream. Recoiling from the dagger in its flank, Tolen’s horse leapt sideways, lost its footing, and fell from the narrow path. For the rest of his life Breccan would remember his brother’s vacant look as he groped for his reins while the earth fell away. For a second, horse and rider hung suspended over the void. Then dropping into the silence of eternity, they were gone.
The ride came to a halt. Ravigel rode back up the line and peered over the edge. Far below lay two small remote figures, pale and still.
Ravigel blew out his cheeks. “Terrible thing, sir, to lose a brother like that.” He looked Breccan hard in the eye. “But a riding accident can happen to any man.”
“Yes,” agreed Breccan, his eyes moist with grief.
“And Sir Tolen had been drinking since we set out. All the men will say that.”
“Yes. Thank you, Ravigel.”
Breccan arranged his face in an attitude of loss as the knights crowded around to mutter and bow their heads. Bereavement would suit him, he knew. Tears were easy, he should shed a few now.
As he did, Tolen’s words came back to him, and he crowed with inward delight. You were right, dear brother, I couldn’t kill every man standing in my way—but I could kill you!
CHAPTER 8
Throughout the winter forest no birds sang. Damp glistened on the leaves of every tree, and all the woodland shrank back to its frozen roots. Untamed from primeval times, the forest rolled on for mile after shadowed mile, roofed by the matted branches of old oaks, walled in by thickets of elder and tangled briar. The only ways through the wood were narrow, hidden tracks. Cornwall’s last wilderness guarded its secrets well.
A dank chill stirred the air as they approached. A shiver ran through the underwood, and the track narrowed till they had to travel in single file, Tristan and the strongest of the troop in front, then Isolde and Brangwain in the middle with the rest of the guard behind. The horses were uneasy as they went in, rolling their eyes and flattening their ears to their heads. Nervously, they trod forward over the rotting leaves. Isolde leaned forward and patted her mare’s soft neck.
Yes, it’s a dark,
strange place, but take heart, my dear.
She gave a
Tolen drinking again? When he was drunk already, in a place like this? Didn’t he see the sheer drop at the side of the track? Breccan’s fury peaked. Gods above, if his horse shied, he could kill them all!
Tolen released a fat belch of contentment. “Listen to me, little brother,” he began expansively. He laid down his reins on the patient horse’s neck and took another deep pull on his wine. “You need to learn a thing or two from me—”
Breccan looked into the chasm at the edge of the path. “Tolen, take care. One slip and—”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Tolen laughed nastily. “You’re not King yet.” He poured a steady stream of wine straight down his throat. “And you’re not going to be if you keep on like this.”
“How so?” Only Tolen’s guardian angel would have recognized the shadow of gathering menace in Breccan’s voice. But any hope of protection was far away.
Tolen’s face flushed. “You won’t do it, brother,” he said thickly, “because you don’t understand the game. The Christians don’t care about you, you’re nothing but a petty warlord to them. And you think you can make yourself Isolde’s chosen one? She won’t look at you, she’s already married to a king. If you take her by force, you’ll have all Ireland on your back. But you don’t see any of that. You’re a fool, little brother, and you always were.”
With the sense of a speech well made, Tolen fumbled for his bottle again.
Oh, the comfort of cold steel. Breccan curled his fingers back into his sleeve and coaxed his hidden blade down into his hand. Come, my little love, time to go to work. Easy now, that’s right. Then as I laugh and clap Tolen’s horse on the rump
—go!
There was a terrible scream. Recoiling from the dagger in its flank, Tolen’s horse leapt sideways, lost its footing, and fell from the narrow path. For the rest of his life Breccan would remember his brother’s vacant look as he groped for his reins while the earth fell away. For a second, horse and rider hung suspended over the void. Then dropping into the silence of eternity, they were gone.
The ride came to a halt. Ravigel rode back up the line and peered over the edge. Far below lay two small remote figures, pale and still.
Ravigel blew out his cheeks. “Terrible thing, sir, to lose a brother like that.” He looked Breccan hard in the eye. “But a riding accident can happen to any man.”
“Yes,” agreed Breccan, his eyes moist with grief.
“And Sir Tolen had been drinking since we set out. All the men will say that.”
“Yes. Thank you, Ravigel.”
Breccan arranged his face in an attitude of loss as the knights crowded around to mutter and bow their heads. Bereavement would suit him, he knew. Tears were easy, he should shed a few now.
As he did, Tolen’s words came back to him, and he crowed with inward delight. You were right, dear brother, I couldn’t kill every man standing in my way—but I could kill you!
CHAPTER 8
Throughout the winter forest no birds sang. Damp glistened on the leaves of every tree, and all the woodland shrank back to its frozen roots. Untamed from primeval times, the forest rolled on for mile after shadowed mile, roofed by the matted branches of old oaks, walled in by thickets of elder and tangled briar. The only ways through the wood were narrow, hidden tracks. Cornwall’s last wilderness guarded its secrets well.
A dank chill stirred the air as they approached. A shiver ran through the underwood, and the track narrowed till they had to travel in single file, Tristan and the strongest of the troop in front, then Isolde and Brangwain in the middle with the rest of the guard behind. The horses were uneasy as they went in, rolling their eyes and flattening their ears to their heads. Nervously, they trod forward over the rotting leaves. Isolde leaned forward and patted her mare’s soft neck.
Yes, it’s a dark,
strange place, but take heart, my dear.
She gave a
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