When he arose they both came to him, like Hope and Charity who had attended at the burial of Faith.
“God give you joy, Tristan,” said the Duchess. “Columbe is avenged. Turn now, let all dark thoughts elapse.”
They went out into the sunny forecourt where the men were burying the coffin of St. Pelinore under an orange tree. Once more the great church was steeped in solitude, the sunlight plashing through the coloured glass, the arches wreathed with shadowy gloom. Yet the rosary with its stones of white and green would be trodden no more by the penitents of Agravale. An Isaurian spirit had inspired Tristan towards the church, yet he was no mere image-breaker in his victory. The great church of St. Pelinore should cover with its ruins the grave of Columbe, his dead sister.
Thus the great work began. Knight and soldier seized an axe and pick, broke down the altars and images and the rich frescoes. They threw down the buttresses, sapped the piers and pillars at their foundations, breached the walls and mined them in many places. By sunset the whole church tottered, the great tower trembled, the pillars fell. It was then that they fastened twenty stout ropes about the knees of the great central piers. Every man quitted the doomed church and ran out to watch its final overthrow.
At the flash of Tristan’s sword the men in the square set their hands to the ropes and drew together with a loud shout. The two southern piers, sapped at their foundations, tottered, broke, and came down like thunder. For a moment the tall tower quivered and stood. Then came the rending of the walls, the heavy downrush of the roof. Pillars crashed down like smitten Titans; a cloud of dust rushed to the heavens. Even as the temple of the Philistines fell beneath Samson’s strength, so the church of St. Pelinore sank in ruins over Columbe’s grave.
About the White Palace far south of the Great Mountains were pitched a thousand tents, some under the shadows of the wooded heights, others on the banks of a broad river. The palace stood on a hill in the midst of a valley, like a white casket wonderfully carved set upon a pedestal of green marble. In its gardens fountains played amid groves of roses, myrtles, and orange trees. Huge cypresses rose against the gleaming walls, overshadowing beds of purple flowers, white marble stairways, tranquil pools. Towards the deep blue dome of the sky, tower, turret, and minaret mimicked the white peaks of the distant mountains.