Tristan and Isolde

Long agone  , in the age of chivalry and legends, when knights rode with honor and fiefdoms rose beneath the banners of lords, there lived a youthful legionnaire named Tristan. He was born in anguish, his very name — Tristan, meaning sadness — chosen for the mischance that girdled his birth.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Long agone in the age of chivalry and legends, when
knights rode with honor and fiefdoms rose. Beneath the banners
of lords, there lived a youthful legionnaire named Tristan. He
was born in anguish. His very name Tristan, meaning sadness,
chosen for miss chance that girdled his birth. His father,
Lord Revelin of Lioness, had failed before he was born,

(00:22):
taken in battle. His mama, Blancheflor, the family of King
Mark of Cornwall, failed of heartache as she gave birth
to her only child. Raised by noble guardians in secret,
Tristan grew into a youthful man of exceptional courage, intelligence,
and grace. He learned the artist, sword play, music, stalking,
and tactfulness, but utmost of all, he bore the burden

(00:45):
of a fortune not yet revealed. When Tristan was of age,
he eventually came to his uncle's court in Cornwall. King
Mark ate him warmly, ignorant at first that this fine
youth was his horse son, but soon the verity was
discovered and love bloom between uncle and horse son. Tristan
came not only a knight of Marx court, but also

(01:06):
the most cherished member of his family. His valor and events,
his fidelity, and his noble heart want him admire from all.
But Fate had deeper plans. Across the ocean. In Ireland,
a fearsome legionnaire known as Morholt family the Irish Queen
demanded homage from Cornwall. Every time the Cornish had to
shoot gold and youthful menace payment to avoid war. This

(01:29):
personality soaked the pride of King Mark, and Tristan, unintentional
to see his people lowered, challenged Morholt to single combat.
The dogfight took place on a small islet far from
the eyes of the court. The battle was brutal in fierce.
Though Tristan slew Moreholt. In the end, he himself was
gravely wounded by a poisoned blade. The baines spread through

(01:51):
his modes, and no healer in Cornwall could save him.
Stewing for his life, Tristan took a small boat and
sailed to ocean. Under a false name. He drifted toward Ireland,
hoping against stopgap that foreign land might hold the cure.
Fate guided him to the props of Dublin, where he
was set up half dead by fishers and brought to
the court of Queen and sold the elder Morholtz family.

(02:14):
There in the Irish Palace, a phenomenon began. It soul.
The Queen was famed for her chops and sauces, and
mending her son is sold. The fair inherited her beauty
and knowledge, with golden hair like vestments of sun and
eye as deep as ocean runs. His soul affair was
cherished by all who saw her, and it was she
who watched a foreigner they called Tuntris ignorant. He was

(02:36):
a man who had taken her uncle. Days passed and
the bane faded from Tristan's body. Chased down by a
soul's gentle hands and secret drafts, he grew strong again,
but love had begun to bloom, silent and slow, like
spring rising the cold earth. Tristan, though thankful, kept his
identity hidden, and a soul, though suspicious, felt her heart

(02:58):
betray her reason. One day, while tending to his injuries,
his soul discovered shard of Morholtz blade, the same blade
that had killed him, hidden in Tristan's things. Her heart
set the verity actualized in a cruel flashed tuntress was
no other than Tristan of Cornwall, the killer of her kin.
She lifted her brand in fury, ready to retaliate her uncle.

(03:19):
But as she raised the blade, she saw the anguish
in Tristan's eyes. He made no defense, offered no escape. Rather,
he rumored, if I must die, let be by her
hand is sold. She could undo it. Her hand fell
to her side, the brand rattling on the bottom. In
that moment, she knew that love had formerly taken root,

(03:41):
deep and dangerous. She let him go. She hid the
verity from her mama. She helped him return to Cornwall,
and they parted with gashes and unsaid words. Back in Cornwall,
King Mark heeded with pride to Tristan's tale of survival,
but his court grew restless with talk of marriage. The
Lord's prompt him to choose a queen to strengthen the throne. Mark,

(04:03):
reticent to Mary, challenges court. He'd only wed the woman
whose golden hair matched a single beachfront set up gripped
in the beak of a swallow that had flown into
the hall. That beach from belonged to none other than
the soul the Fair of Ireland. Knowing this, Mark ordered
Tristan to return to Ireland and caused to Demoiselle, who
matched the hair. Tristan, torn between love and duty, adhered.

(04:26):
He returned to the land where his heart had stirred,
and sought a soul's hand, not for himself, but for
his king. The Irish court was reluctant, though Morholt's death
was forgiving words. Bitterness dallied. Yet King Mark was fat
and noble, and Tristan's fame had grown far and wide.
The Queen, wanting peace between the fiefdoms, agreed his soul

(04:47):
would marry the King of Cornwall, but her heart was
entt at peace it sold. Though Bidable burned with confusion
and anguish, she didn't understand why Tristan had returned only
to offer her to another, she dared not ask. In
her silence, her mama prepared her for the passage and
entrusted her to Tristan's care. She also gave her a

(05:08):
small vial of love potion, meant to be participated between
the souled and King Mark on their marriage night. It
would bind them together an eternal love, icing peace between
the fiefdoms. But fate formerly again interposed as the boat
crossed the swell to heard cornwall, Tristan and the soul
sat in silence. Words failed them. The sun sank into

(05:29):
the swells, and moonlight revealed across the sun deck. Overwhelmed
by emotion, is Sould reached for a beaker to steady
her jitters. Tristan, parching, heavy hearted, drank with her. Neither
knew that the mug they participated held the Queen's potion
of love. In that single innocent act, their fates were
ever changed. The magic took hold, like fire and dry lawn,

(05:53):
All the feelings they had hidden, all the craving and restraint,
burst into bloom. They saw each other again, no longer
as knight and queen, but as soul, mats set not
only by memory and desire, but by enchantment deeper than meat.
That night, beneath the stars and swab kiss wind, Tristan
and a soul came suckers, their hearts formerly near breaking,

(06:15):
now overflow with joy and despair. For they knew that
a soul was promised to another, and the land they
approached would soon steal her from him. Yet neither could
stop the drift of love that now ruled their blood.
When they reached Cornwall, the marriage was prepared it formerly
is sold noble and biddable what King Mark in a
grand form. The people rejoiced, ignorant of the secret participated

(06:38):
between bridegroom and companion. But in the darkness of night,
in auditoriums and hidden chambers, Tristan and a soul met
again and again, unfit to repel the pull love that
Nita had asked for, But both now drag tales grew
jealous Patricians, seeing deception, began to suspect. Chief among them
was Lord Maloe, formerly a friend of Tristan, but now

(07:00):
bitter and invidious. He watched them, awaited and colluded. One night,
he led King Mark to a retired place where he
knew the suckers would meet. There, Mark saw them, Tristan
kneeling before soul, their hands clasped in silent anguish. The
king was devastated. He loved Tristan as a son, and
had trusted beyond all others, and has sould his bridegroom,

(07:24):
his prize, had betrayed him on their very marriage night.
He could scarcely believe it, but rather than rage, Mark
wept his heart broke. He banished Tristan from the area.
His soul was placed under guard, her freedom stripped down,
Tristan fled into exile, riding deep into foreign lands, his
soul in ruin, Yet indeed in exile, his love for

(07:46):
his soul remained. He sculped her name into trees, sang
songs of the wind, and bore her absence like a
crack that no way healed. But this was empty end
love formally awakened by magic and fortune, tasent I flewy
in the heart of Cornwall's gravestone. She caught love, wore
a mass of anguish and silence, though a soul sat

(08:07):
beside King Mark radiant and composed her heart beat for another. Tristan,
her cherished, and a man who had brought her to
this veritable hall as a bridegroom, now for himself, but
for his uncle. The potion they had drunk intentionally still
tied their souls together, and despite all sweats to deny it,
their love only strengthened. For a time. They kept their

(08:28):
secret hidden. Mark kind and trusting saw only fidelity in
his horse, son and grace and his woman. But love,
like theirs, fierce and interdicted, cannot stay veiled. Ever, tales
began to swirl through the court, a regard too long,
a meeting too late at night, a melancholy in the
soul's eyes. When Tristan was down, among the king's patricians

(08:50):
was a schemer named and read in Vidius of Tristan's
valor and favor. He watched, heated, and awaited. It was
he who first sowed dubitation in the King's heart. Heart,
my lord, and reht rumored, your honor may be in peril.
Tristan walks too frequently in the queen's shadow. Is it
not strange that he lingers in the theater after dusk

(09:11):
when the queen also takes the air mark. Though wounded
by the study, refused to charge him without evidence, but
the seed of mistrustfulness had taken root. To confirm the verity,
the king arranged a trap. He pretended to go on
a stalking passage, leaving the castle by day, but under
evening he returned quietly and crept into the chamber beneath

(09:33):
the souled shield, where he had behind a shade. That night.
Tristan came, guided by love and craving. The moment the
soul's eyes met his, the walls of their lives fell down,
leaving only the memory of that first Cataclysmo bel to
the love potion and the storm had produced within their hearts.
They embrace, not knowing Mark watch from the murk. When

(09:54):
morning light broke across the chamber, Mark stepped out, with
anguish in his eyes. He braked, raising them not with
rage but with desolation. Why Tristan, he asked, voice, heavy, you,
whom I loved as a son, You is sold whom
I made my queen. Tristan knelt, my lord, he said,
we are shamefaced, but not by design. It was entries

(10:16):
and a will, but a fate. A love potion bound
our hearts before we understood its cost. Mark was torn.
His pride is love, his treason all disaccorded within him.
Yet he didn't kill them. Rather, he turned to justice.
Tristan was to be executed and his soul returned to
Ireland or transferred to Cloister, anything to abolish the disgrace.

(10:39):
Tristan was taken to a hill beyond a castle to
be hanged. But fate, ever in twined with their story interposed.
As the gallows were prepared, Tristan's pious friend Gorvinell let
an enterprise and escape. With brand drawn and courage blazing,
he freed his master. Together they fled into the timber,
and words soon reached his soul, who prayed her handmade

(11:01):
branding for help. The stalwart made a rain for a
soul to escape the castle and join her nut in Eggxile,
Tristan and a soul took her treat in the timber
of Morwah, a wild land of thick trees, tablewhere gutters
and hidden clearings. There, far from thrones and treason, they
lived in a shack of woven branches and participated a
life strip the titles, but rich with love. Days passed

(11:25):
like dreams, and knights melted into whispers and warmth. They
lived as though the world beyond the timber no longer was.
They hunted, sang, laughed, and made the nature of their
area in their secret shield of love. The enchantment no
way faded, yet indeed, paradise cannot last ever. Mark, tore

(11:45):
between wrathfulness and anguish, ultimately learned their whereabouts. One day
he ventured into the timber alone and came upon the
suckers sleeping beside each other, completely clothed with Tristan's brand
placed precisely between them as a hedge, a sign of chastity,
of a pledge unbroken. Mark understood in that moment the

(12:05):
strange verity of their bond. His wrath lessened. He left quietly,
taking with him a sinch of a soul's hair and
a commemorative from Tristan. He did and disturb them latterly,
King Mark made a choice that surprised all. He offered remission.
He allowed a soul to return the court under his protection,
but Tristan, understanding that his presence could only revitalize peril,

(12:28):
chose to leave with heavy heart. He bit his soul
farewell beneath the timber cover. My love, he said, we
are the branches of the same tree. Fate had been
toward each other, though the wind gashes us piecemeal, But
now I must go gashes in her eyes. His soul
kissed him one last time, Indeed, an absence, you're my

(12:48):
heart's compass. Therefore ended their time in more, while Tristan
left Cornwall and traveled to Brittany, where he sought purpose
in war and tactfulness. There he fought alongside King Hole
and earned honor again in time he came close to
whole son also named the Sould his soul to the
white hands. Out of fidelity and maybe a hopeless attempt

(13:10):
to bury his painting heart, Tristan married her, yet he
couldn't love her as he loved his queen. The marriage
remained concave, a quiet arrangement without passion. Back in Cornwall,
is Sould of Island grew quiet and rueful. She carried
herself with grace, but lived in a world bedimmed without
Tristan mark, though king no way touched the deepest chambers

(13:33):
of her heart. Times passed. One day Tristan was gravely
wounded in battle by a poisoned shaft. His body burned
with fever, and none in Brittany could heal him. Flashing
back the skill and kindness of his truest soul, the
Queen of Cornwall, he called out for her in his distraction.
Still I shall live, he told his menial. As she

(13:53):
comes sail to Cornwall, tell her I'm dying. However, raise
white cruises on your boat. If she agrees to return, however,
let them be black. If she refuses. Cahern adhered. He
sailed fleetly, carrying Tristan's plea. Days passed, and Tristan lay
in bed, eyes locked on the ocean from his palace.

(14:14):
Every hour he asked, do you see the cruises? And
also came the cruelest twist of fate if sold of
the white hands, jealous and unloved, saw her hubby's agony
and abomination toward her own name. When she eventually saw
the boat return with white cruises, she prevaricated, The cruises
are black, she said, her voice flat. At those words,

(14:36):
Tristan's heart broke with a cry of despair. He turned
down from the window. Also, all is lost, he rumored.
He let go His soul, sick and beaten by fate, departed.
Moments latterly is Sould of Ireland arrived. She rushed up
the stairs, her gown fluttering like a morning banner. But
she was too late. She set up Tristan breathless. Falling

(14:59):
beside him, she kissed his brow, took his hand, and
held him near grief swamp, her body like a drift
too strong to repel. I've come, my love, she rumored,
voice pulsing, But the ocean has stolen you. That night
she failed beside him, not by crack, not by blade,
but by heartache, her breath desisted as she laid her

(15:21):
head upon his casket, joining him in a sleep deeper
than time. Therefore enter the tale of Tristan and the Souled,
two souls who defied lords war in distance, yekud at
master fate, but death, cruel as it was, eventually gave
them what life no way allowed, eternal union. The days
grew colder in Brittany, and with them so did Tristan's spirit.

(15:41):
Though wedded to soul to the White Hands, his studies
were no way far from his true love. In Cornwall,
the knights were the hardest. As the ocean winds rumored
outside his gravestone chamber, Tristan would lay awake, tortured by recollections.
Was Sould of Ireland, her voice, her horse laugh, the
deep craving in her eyes, the fire in his heart

(16:02):
burned by that cataclysmal love potion had no way truly faded.
But fortune had one final act to play. One day,
during a question the Breton Timbers, Tristan was ambuscaded by
adversaries of his host Kinghole. He fought courageously, but was
struck by a poisoned shaft. The crack was deep, festering

(16:22):
and beyond the skill of the Breton healers. As the
days passed, his strength waned. He lay pale and fading
in bed, knowing only one person could save him. Is
sold of Ireland. The healer, the woman he'd loved beyond reason.
Summoning his closest companion, Kahedin, is sold to the White
Han's family. Tristan rumored a plea go to Cornwall, find her,

(16:44):
supplicate her to come. Only she can heal me. Tell
her it's Tristan, who calls Kahedin was pious and stalwart.
He pledged to reach his soul fleetly, But before leaving,
Tristan made a hopeless request under turn as she comes,
the white sail, however, fly black as she refuses. Kahitian

(17:05):
sailed off into the vast ocean, his boat carrying the
last stop gap of the dying night. Tristan remained in bed,
staying his skin slate with fever, his lips grunting a
soul's name in every waking dream in Cornwall, Queen of
Soul's Heart skipped as Kahedan knelt before her. The moment
she heard Tristan's name, her calm facade shattered without detention,

(17:28):
she ordered her effects prepared. Though times had passed, her
love had empedemmed. She boarded the boat, daring ocean storms
and insomniac nights. Her only study Tristan must and die.
But fate so cruel in its weaving planeted covetousness in
the heart of a soul to the white hands. The
days of Kahedin's absence were agony for Tristan. Each hour

(17:51):
stretched each breath harder to draw, and all the while
his woman, his soul to the White hands, watched and
brute the name of another woman. She had known from
the morning that her hubby's heart was in hers, yet
until now she had borne it with silence. But now
she saw it easily. Her hubby was dying for another woman.

(18:12):
At last, Kaheden's boat returned. It sailed across the horizon
toward Brittany. From Tristan's chamber, the ocean was just visible.
His dim eyes searched the swells. Is it white or black?
He asked noiselessly, and in that moment his soul to
the White hand stood at the window. Covetousness, grief and
treason warreed in her soul, and also, with a voice

(18:35):
colder than the ocean mist, she said, black, the passage
is black. Tristan's face changed for a long moment. He
said nothing. Also, he turned his face down from the window.
A soft shriek escaped his lips, and with it his
final breath. He'd failed, believing she had income. Moments latterly,

(18:56):
the door burst open. The other A soul is the Sould,
rushed hiss her golden hair while from the ocean wind.
She dropped to her knees beside the bed. Her hands
reached for his Tristan, she rumored, I'm then, I've come,
but he didn't answer. She pressed her head against his casket.
There was no twinkle. She kissed his lips, weeping, calling

(19:19):
to him through her gashes, It's I It's You're Sould.
I've crossed the ocean. I've come to heal you. Tristan wake,
But no mend in the world could mend what was
formerly lost. Her heart broke. She stayed beside him through
the night, and as the morning sun painted the ocean
with fire, Is Sould of Ireland laid down beside him.

(19:40):
She placed her head against his shoulder, took his hand
in hers and rumored, let me follow you, cherished, and
with that final oath, her spirit left her body. She
failed at a broken heart. The love too fears to
be borne alone. The world mourned the tail of Tristan,
and is souled king hole up for the noble night

(20:01):
he'd loved like a sun. It soul of the white
hands withdrew from court, consumed by guilt and anguish, no
way speaking again of the taradil she had told the
people of Brittany carried the two suckers to the ocean
escarpments and buried them in a tabernacle overlooking the swells.
From Tristan's grave grew a potent briar, thick with frustrations

(20:22):
and wild leaves. From a soul's a white rose of
unmatched beauty. The two shops grew fleetly, entwining toward one
another across the tabernacle gravestone. The frustrations of the briar
wrapped the rose like a nuts grasp. No blade, no
gardener could ramify them. Indeed, when cut, they grew again.
By morning. Word of the phenomenons spread across the lands.

(20:45):
It was said that their souls, bound by love and
anguish had set up each other at last in death,
and that the rose and briar would grow ever as
a symbol of undying love. And so the story of
Tristan and a Soul lived on. It passed in the
mouths of versifiers, to the halls of lords, sung beside heartstones,
and rumored in the cognizance of suckers, a tale of

(21:06):
love that defied duty of passion, cursed by fate, and
the hearts that could be separated, not by ocean, not
by treason, not indeed by death. They had loved each
other holy, dangerously, eternally, and though the world had conspired
to keep them piecemeal, the power of their love endure
beyond the grave, entwined together like rose and nuisance ever