“Witchcraft. I think—I think she was trying to find a way to connect to me without your help. Guinevere, he will kill her.” She collapsed into tears and Guinevere drew her close.
Arthur, Sir Tristan, and Lancelot joined them. “What happened?” Arthur asked, alarmed.
“King Mark. He is going to try his wife for witchcraft.”
Sir Tristan’s kind brown eyes widened with horror. “Isolde,” he whispered.
“Isolde? Your Isolde?” Arthur asked.
Guinevere shook her head. “Brangien’s Isolde.”
Arthur frowned, puzzled. “I do not understand.”
“We have never told the truth,” Brangien said, pulling back from Guinevere. “But it is time to. I will tell you the real story of Tristan and Isolde.”
“And Brangien,” Sir Tristan added, his voice soft with sadness.
Tristan and Isolde and Brangien
The tale was not as polished as that of Arthur and the Forest of Blood, or as funny as Sir Mordred and the Green Knight. It was not a tale that had been traded between bards, or even shared beyond Brangien and Sir Tristan, now clasping hands, united in the telling. It was a secret tale of love, betrayal, and failure.
King Mark desired a bride. He had been through three others, all disappointments. He charged his nephew, Sir Tristan, with riding the land and finding the fairest maiden for him.
Sir Tristan took his calling with all the earnest devotion a young knight could. He knew his uncle to be a jealous man, quick to rage, feared in his household and kingdom. And so when Sir Tristan heard of a woman noted not only for her beauty but also her kindness, he sought her out. Isolde was exactly what his king needed. Sir Tristan saw her and hoped that she would temper King Mark and bring much needed light and compassion to the kingdom.
Isolde’s father saw King Mark’s offered price and knew his daughter would bring much needed gold to his own household.
The deal was done before Isolde and Brangien knew about it. The entire household went into mourning when they discovered they were losing their Isolde. Sir Tristan saw how they loved her and had even more hope that he had made the right choice. He loved his uncle’s people, if not his uncle, and he wanted to do right by them.
His uncle had requested only youth and beauty, and Isolde was youthful enough. She was beautiful, too, according to everyone, which mattered nothing to Tristan. But she was kind. Even though she was sad about leaving her home, Isolde had only gentle words for him. Her maid, less so.
Brangien had known this day would come. But somehow she thought it would be later. So much later that she did not have to think about it. Then this stupid, lovely boy showed up with his king’s gold and Isolde—her Isolde—was sold like a breeding mare. Brangien became a creature of wrath and spite. She considered poisoning Isolde’s father, but the deal had already been made and Isolde had a brother who would honor it, so that would solve nothing. She considered poisoning him anyway, but knew it would hurt Isolde.
So she packed her true love’s belongings, and in her rage almost did not notice Isolde crying herself to sleep.
If Brangien was hurting, how much more must tender Isolde be hurting? Brangien would have to be at Isolde’s side and watch as she married another, but Isolde would have to do the marrying. For once in her life, Brangien realized she could not bear to see someone else suffer. She would do whatever it took to make certain Isolde was happy. Even if it meant losing her.
Brangien packed, and Brangien prepared. Her mother had taught her many things. She was a practical witch who had a solution to any problem, including love. Brangien slipped the love potion—a magic that would make Isolde, her Isolde, be happy with another—into her pouch and set out on the journey to the end of her own happiness forever.
But as they crossed land, forded rivers, and camped day in and day out, Brangien saw that the young knight at their side matched Isolde for kindness. He was gentle and respectful and good. And she did not doubt he was skilled as a fighter, having been entrusted with such a task.
Isolde asked about King Mark, and Sir Tristan answered as diplomatically as he could. But Brangien could feel the shape of the man in the things that were left out, and she began to fear. Even if she could make Isolde and King Mark love each other, she could not change a cruel man into a good one. There was no potion capable of that.
An idea occurred to Brangien.
A terrible idea.
If this valiant knight fell in love with her precious Isolde, would he not do whatever it took to protect her? To keep her?
They boarded a ship that would take them along the coast and deliver them to the
king. Brangien had two potions. One to make two people fall in love, and one to make a person appear dead.
Her plan was simple: Give Sir Tristan and Isolde each other. And then remove herself from Isolde’s life to make certain Isolde could be happy. As long as Brangien knew Isolde was out there somewhere, she could never truly love another. Potion or no, she suspected Isolde would feel the same way. But Isolde had only ever seen minor potions; she had no idea the power Brangien could brew and would never suspect such a devastating act was deliberate. Isolde would have love, and Brangien would be “dead.”
It was not fair to any of them. But Isolde always took care of those around her, and this was the only way Brangien could see to take care of her.
It would have worked. But as Brangien poured the cups of wine and readied the love potion, she wept for all she was losing. And Sir Tristan, hearing the weeping, came into the cabin too soon. She was caught. She expected violence, rage, or cold judgment.