could not beat down the young
knight's guard, and in despite he began to aim at his vizor and his
neck. At this Sir Tristram was wroth, and struck him more furiously.
Thus for two hours the battle waged, and both were sore wounded. But
Sir Tristram was the fresher and better winded and bigger of limb and
reach; and suddenly he heaved his sword up high, and closing upon Sir
Marhaus he smote him with so mighty a buffet upon his helm that the
blade shore through the steel even into the brain-pan.

So fierce had been the stroke that the sword stuck fast in the bone and
the helmet, and Sir Tristram pulled thrice at his sword before it would
loosen. Sir Marhaus sank to his knees with a deathly groan; then he
threw away his sword and shield, and rising, staggered away towards his
ship. Sir Tristram swooned and fell; and his squire came running to
him, just as the men of Sir Marhaus' ship came and drew their master on
board. Then they swiftly set their sail and flew over the sea.

Great was the mourning of the barons and the people of Cornwall when it
was known how deep and wide was the wound which Tristram had received
from the lance of Sir Marhaus. Many famous leeches came and searched
the wound and strove to close it, but none availed. When two months had
passed, came an old, old woman, a witch wise in leechcraft beyond all
others, who was called the Mother of the Mists, and who lived in the
Great Shuddering Moor, where only trolls dwelled, and no man ever dared
to go. She also came and searched his wound at the king's desire.

When she had made her search, with many mumblings and strange words,
she turned and looked keenly at the king. Her eyes gleamed like beads,
her skin was wrinkled and dark, and she laughed a little soft laugh.

'Lord king,' she said, 'this fine man's wound is poisoned, and naught
can heal it this side the great water. But if he goeth whither the
spear came from which poisoned it, he shall get whole of that wound.'

''Tis well,' said the king, 'he shall be sent to Ireland.'

'Ay, ay, ay,' said the old woman, and laughed in Sir Tristram's face.
'Thou shalt be healed, fair chief, but the hand that shall heal thee
shall give thee a deeper wound--a wound that shall never be healed this
side o' thy grave.'

Forthwith King Mark let a fair ship be purveyed and well stored with
necessary victuals, and Sir Tristram was carried thereto and laid on
his couch on the deck, and Governale, his faithful squire, w