As she wept that night under the stars, she made a passionate prayer to Heaven.
“O God,” cried her heart, “send Tristan hither. Grant that he may love me as he loved of old. Hear this my prayer, O Father of heaven. For lo, I have broken the pride in my heart, and lo, I love Tristan, and would be his wife. Hear me, God, and save me from shame.”
She knelt a long while gazing up at the stars. The tears came no more to dim her eyes; a sudden wind stirred the trees in the garden. The sound seemed as a still voice answering her prayer, a voice that whispered—
While Rosamunde was held a prisoner in the madhouse in the mere, Tristan and the Duchess had turned back from the west and marched again on Marvail and the fords of the Lorient. Having dealt with Jocelyn and dispersed his people, they were ready to revenge them for Samson’s death, and for the ruin wrought in the Seven Streams. They had sworn together, they and their nobles, to humble Agravale and to end the crusades that the priests had preached in that same city.
At Marvail Tristan had set craftsmen at work upon two coffins of seasoned wood. The larger was framed for Jocelyn the Bishop; Tristan had him laid alive therein, and the lid fastened over him with thongs of leather. Two holes were left in the lid over Jocelyn’s face, so that he might breathe and take his food. Imprisoned thus, he was carried on a litter pole on the march, while beside him was borne the empty coffin covered with the Sacred Banner blessed by the Pope.
Late that winter Tristan and the Duchess crossed the Lorient and encamped near to Samson’s grave. They set their men to raise a great mound over the place, and having cut down the tree on which Samson had been crucified, they fashioned from it a great cross. This they set on the summit of the mound as a trophy to him who had conquered in death.
Between the fords of the Lorient and the city of Agravale lay some twenty leagues of forest land, more dark and rugged than the province of the Seven Streams. Here and there were villages hid in the deep gloom of the woods. A few abbeys and religious houses slept grey and solemn in the wilderness, their fish ponds glimmering amid the green. Many strange beasts lurked within its shadows and many barbarous folk but half claimed by the Church. From the fords of the Lorient even to the cliffs of Agravale a squirrel might have journeyed from tree to tree.