'Mark was King of Cornwall. He was betrothed to an Irish princess called Iseult—a girl whose beauty no man could resist.'
'But of course. And Tristan—how does he come into the story?'
'He was the king's nephew, sent to bring Iseult across the sea to Cornwall. He was Mark's most loyal subject, and I'm sure there'd have been no problem, if it hadn't been for one thing.'
'What was that?'
'The young princess's mother, fretting that her daughter was entering into it loveless marriage with a man she'd never met, gave Iseult's maid, Brangwyn, a magic love potion. She was to put it secretly into the drinks of the bride and groom on their wedding-night, and they would at once fall desperately in love.'
'And did they?' Against her will, Petra was succumbing to the spell of Jared's voice.
'All in good time.' He tapped her nose reprovingly, and she drew back sharply. 'That warm, star-lit summer night Iseult and Tristan were alone together at the prow of the boat. She was thirsty, so he fetched from the cabin two goblets and a jar of what he thought was wine.'
'You mean they drank the potion?'
'Exactly. Straight away they fell helplessly, passionately in love, and right there, among the sheepskins strewn on the deck, they consummated that love.'
'So they ran away together and lived happily ever after.' But her attempt to inject a flippant note into her voice failed miserably.
'Not exactly, no. Mark was waiting for them when the boat landed—just along the coast from here—and Tristan had no option but to present him with his virgin bride.'
'But didn't he guess?'
'That she wasn't, you mean? No, because on the wedding-night, when the court had withdrawn and all the lamps were extinguished, the young girl Brangwyn was substituted for her mistress in the royal bed.'
'So after that the spell was broken.'
'Of course not—it had three years to run, and they were as much in love as ever. But rumours of their meetings reached the king, and, even though they denied the truth, Tristan was sentenced to death. He escaped at the last minute, but Iseult was ordered to undergo trial by ordeal.'
'In what way?'
'To prove her innocence she had to cross the dangerous tidal estuary at Malpas without soiling her silk dress. With all the court watching—and NOME say King Arthur was present, too she rode down to the muddy edge, then, as she was commanded, sent her horse across alone. But an old beggar who happened to be sitting on the liverbank offered to carry her on his hack, and somehow they lurched across unscathed. Then she remounted her horse and rode proudly up to the king, put her hand on a casket of sacred relics and swore that her thighs had enclosed no man but her husband and the old beggar.'
'So she lied?'
'A little economical with the truth, perhaps, but no. The old beggar was Tristan in disguise, you see.'
'And Mark was deceived.'
He shrugged. 'Not for much longer. When the three years passed guilt took over, the lovers parted and Tristan left Cornwall forever.'
'And that's the end of the story,' she said slowly.
'Not quite. You see—'
The knock at the kitchen door made Petra start, but then, grateful to break free from the insidious coils Jared had been weaving round her, she leapt to answer it.
'Oh, hello, Mrs Pearce.'
'Good morning, Petra.' The woman's round, rosy face was puckered. 'I seem to have lost my new tenant. Have you seen him? There's a big new car round the back, but he's not in the house.'
'I . . . ' Petra began, but as she was still fumbling for words Mrs Pearce looked past her shoulder into the room.
'Why—that's him, is it?'
'Yes, that's right. He's here,' she said woodenly. 'Come on in, Mrs Pearce.'
'Thank you, dear.' She walked in, then stopped dead. 'It can't be. Jared—Jared Tremayne. Good heavens, who'd have—?'