Lines 814–1219

Tristrem, that valiant knight,
Made ready as he swore,
Fifteen the tale of knights
Who rode with him, no more.
To court they came forthright —
(Men served their lord before,)
All deemed they saw with sight
Ten kings' sons pass the door,
And each, unsought,
The head of a wild boar
As goodly gift had brought.

(A thought to Rohant came,
And to his knights quoth he:
"As woman dowered with shame
Twofold, it were to me,
An harm to Tristrem came;
Ill guardians sure were we!
Now arm ye at this same,
My knights, and hasten ye
On swift steeds lithe,
Till that I Tristrem see
My heart shall ne'er be blithe!")

Tristrem would speech unfold —
"Sir King, God deal with thee
As I in love thee hold,
And thou hast dealt with me!"
Morgan made answer bold:
"I pray, my lord so free,
Or ban or bliss be told
Thine own the cost may be,
Thou daring knight!
Now make thou known to me
Thine errand, here forthright!"

"Amends! For father slain,
And theft of Ermonie!"
The Duke, he spake again
"Certes, thou say'st no lie,
An thou for strife art fain,
'Amends!' thou well mayst cry!
Therefore, thou haughty swain,
I'll meet thee presently
In fitting guise;
Art thou come hastily
From Mark, thy kinsman wise?

"Thou shalt my will abide —
Thou fool, my wrath to dare!
Thy mother's shame to hide
She with her love must fare!
Now would'st thou come with pride;
Betake thee otherwhere!"
Tristrem, he spake that tide:
"In that, thou liest, I swear!
The truth I know —
With a loaf Morgan there
At Tristrem dealt a blow.

Down to his breast amain
It gushed, the crimson blood;
His sword was bare for bane,
Nigh to the duke he stood;
He smote through bone and brain,
As one in murderous mood.
E'en as, with knightly train,
Came Rohant, friend so good,
In welcome aid —
All that their hand withstood
With life the forfeit paid.

As prisoner did they take
Baron, and earl, and knight,
I wot for Morgan's sake
Many were slain outright.
Many a shaft they shake —
Riven the shields so bright —
Many a head they brake —
Methinks, in sorry plight
Were found their foes —
From nones it was till night
Before the battle's close.

Thus Tristrem, fair of face,
Morgan the duke hath slain,
He gave his foes no grace
Till every hold were ta'en.
They yield in every place
Cities and towers amain,
The folk, they sought his grace,
No foeman did remain
Upon the land —
His father's slayer slain
All bowed them to his hand.

Two years he ruled that land,
And fitting laws did cry;
All bowed them to his hand, —
Almain, and Ermonie,
Both at his will did stand
Ready to do or die.
Rohant he gave command
And set him there on high,
E'en at his side —
"Rohant your cause shall try
And rule this land so wide."

"Rohant and his sons five
Shall hold this land of me,
The while he be alive
His shall it surely be —
What boots it more to strive?
Farewell, I bid to ye,
Southward my course I'll drive,
Mine uncle Mark to see
In life once more."
He turned, Tristrem the free,
His face to England's shore.

Goodly his furnishing,
And goodly his ships' fare;
Rohant he left as king
O'er all his winnings there.
Shipmen his barque did bring
Safely to England there.
There heard he new tidings
Such as, methinks, had ne'er
Come to his ear —
Weeping, the folk did fare
For Ireland's tribute drear.

Mark's tribute thus was told —
(Crowned king altho' he be,)
Three hundred pounds of gold
Must he lay down in fee —
Of silver, wrought and rolled,
Next year the sum must be;
When had past seasons three,
The same he 'ld pay —
The fourth, the tale was told
In noble bairns alway.
Tribute to fetch there came

Moraunt, the noble knight;
Far-spreading was his fame,
As giant, famed in fight.
Three hundred bairns, his claim,
His tribute they, by right.
Tristrem, as at that same,
Came to the shore by night
And there abode;
He of the ship had sight
As it in haven rode.

Mark, he was glad and gay
Tristrem once more to see,
Kissed him full oft that day,
Welcome in sooth was he.
Mark, he would tidings pray,
Know, how he had set free
His lands? — Tristrem did say;
"What may this gathering be,
So sore they greet?"
"Tristrem, I'll tell to thee
The truth, tho' all unsweet.

"The King of Ireland,
Tristrem, I am his thrall;
Too tight he strains the band,
With wrong 't was won withal.
Fain would I now withstand,
On him the blame must fall —
"Thereto I set my hand,"
Tristrem spake in the hall,
Both loud and still. —
"Moraunt, tho' fierce withal,
Here shall not wreak his will!"

Mark gat him then to rede;
Counsel he prayed of this,
And said: "With wrongful deed
Tribute he claims amiss."
Tristrem quoth: "Take ye heed,
His mark he here shall miss!"
Quoth Mark the King, with speed
"These bairns were never his
By law, or right —
Quoth Tristrem: "That, I wis,
I will uphold as knight."

Throughout the royal hold
For tribute men made moan.
Tristrem, he bade withhold
Payment, in lofty tone.
On him the lot was told,
Otherwise was there none,
Never a man so bold,
Fashioned of flesh and bone,
Never a knight —
Who dare for wealth untold
Against Sir Moraunt fight.

Tristrem his way hath ta'en
To Moraunt word to bring;
He spake in wrathful strain
"Naught is to thee owing!"
Moraunt, he quoth again:
"Thou liest in this thing,
My body I were fain
To risk before the king
In battle's rage —
He proffered him a ring;
Tristrem, he took the gage. '

They sailed the sea so wide,
Of barques they had but two —
Moraunt, his boat fast tied
But Tristrem let his go.
Moraunt upon him cried:
"Tristrem, why dost thou so?"
"Needs must one here abide
Tho' each find fitting foe,
And so, I wis,
Whoever hence may go
May fit his need with this!"

Broad was the strand alway
Where they began their fight;
Of that was Moraunt gay,
Tristrem he held full light.
Sure ne'er was seen such fray! —
With blades of goodly might
Each would the other slay —
They hewed the helmets bright.
Now, for England
He fights, Tristrem, the knight.
May God uphold his hand

Moraunt, with all his might
He rode a rapid course
Against Tristrem the knight,
To bear him from his horse.
His lance was none too light —
The lion shield with force
He smote — Tristrem, forthright,
Pierced in his knightly course
The dragon shield —
Moraunt the bold, perforce,
He bare down on the field.

Forthwith to foot he sprung,
And leapt upon his steed;
As ravening wolf he flung
Himself — Take ye good heed!
Tristrem his sword high swung —
Small dread he knew in need!
The sharp blade smote and stung —
Moraunt began to bleed.
Right there, amain —
In Moraunt's greatest need
His steed's back brake in twain

Then up he sprang again,
And cried: "Tristrem, alight!
Since thou my steed hast slain
Afoot we needs must fight!"
"Thereto am I full fain,"
Quoth Tristrem: "by God's Might!"
Together came the twain;
On gleaming helms they smite,
And hew, and pierce,
Tristrem as valiant knight
Fought in that battle fierce.

The champion of Ireland
Smote Tristrem on the shield
That half fell from his hand
Riven upon the field.
Tristrem would him withstand,
His sword he well could wield —
Thus with his trusty brand
Well nigh he forced to yield
Moraunt, the knight —
With wonder unconcealed
King Mark beheld that fight!

Moraunt to win was fain —
He fought as valiant knight;
That Tristrem should be slain
He strove, with all his might.
Tristrem, he smote amain,
His sword brake in the fight,
And fast in Moraunt's brain
It held, a splinter bright —
His death he bore;
But through the thigh forthright.
Tristrem was wounded sore.

A word that smacked of pride
Spake Tristrem — thus quoth he:
"Ye folk of Ireland's side
Your mirror may ye see!
He who will hither ride,
Such shall his portion be!"
With sorrow sore that tide
Moraunt, unto the sea
Weeping, they bare —
With joy Tristrem the free
To Mark the King did fare.

His sword, as offering due,
He to the altar bare;
As Mark's near kinsman true
Tristrem was honoured there.
A covenant they drew
And stablish'd fast and fair;
As he had freed anew
The land, there he should bear
The rule one day,
If so he living were
When Mark had passed away.

Tho' Tristrem deemed it naught,
Yet was he wounded sore;
Tho' healing salves they sought,
And drinks from distant shore,
Leeches no healing wrought,
His pain was aye the more —
To such pass was he brought
The foul smell no man bore,
From him they ran —
And none abode there more
Save Gouvernail, his man.

Three years he lingering lay
Tristrem, (the True, he hight;)
No joy was his by day
Such pain he bare all night.
For dole is none that may
Behold him now with sight,
And each one, sooth to say,
Forsaketh now the knight,
From him they fare,
Each had done what he might,
And had no further care.

At length upon a day
To Mark he did complain;
The counsel, sooth to say,
Was brief betwixt the twain
"In grief have I been aye, —
My life brings little gain ";
King Mark quoth: "Wellaway,
That I must see thy pain
Nor aid may bring!"
Tristrem a ship, was fain
To pray from Mark the King.

"Uncle," he quoth: "I die,
From land will I away,
A ship forthwith will I,
My harp, whereon to play,
And food and drink thereby
To keep me, send alway —
Tho' Mark would fain deny,
Tristrem they bare straightway
To the sea strand —
Save Gouvernail that day
None fared with him from land.

The ship was ready there,
He craved Mark's benison;
From haven did he fare,
The town hight Carlion —
Nine weeks the salt waves bare
His vessel up and down,
The wind blew fresh and fair —
They came unto a town,
Help was full nigh,
Develin hight that town
In Ireland, verily.

He ran before the wind —
Shipmen towards him bore,
His barque to boats they bind
And draw it to the shore.
There in the ship they find
A sick man wounded sore.
He said; On shores unkind
Men wounded him, and bore
Him hither bound, —
None lingered with him more
So ill the stench they found.

Gouvernail quoth again
"How call ye this sea strand? "
To answer were they fain
"Develin is this land."
Tristrem to hear was fain,
Swift did he understand;
Her brother had he slain
Who ruled within the land
In deadly fight;
To make him known were vain,
Tramtris, henceforth he hight.

Upon his barque that day
Gladness there was, and glee,
And every kind of lay
That harped or sung might be.
Then to the queen said they,
(Sister to Moraunt she,)
How a man wounded lay,
A sorry sight to see
And full of care —
"A merry man were he
If but in health he were."

In Develin her repair,
That lady sweet, the queen,
Fairest in vesture fair —
In healing too, I ween,
Skill had she and to spare,
(That was on Tristrem seen;)
She brought him out of care
Though vain his search had been
By night and day —
She sent a plaister keen
That drew the stench away.

The morrow when 't was day
That dame of high degree
She came where Tristrem lay
And asked who he might be?
"A merchant I, alway,
Hight Tramtris verily,
By pirates, sooth to say,
My comrades on the sea
Were slain — rich store
Of stuffs they took from me
And wounded me full sore."