On his arrival there, he found every one in great distress. King Gurmun
of Ireland had, during his absence, invaded Cornwall, and, with the
help of his brother-in-law Morolt, a powerful chief and great warrior,
had subdued the country, and forced King Mark to pay him tribute; and a
shameful tribute it was. By the treaty with Gurmun, the Cornish king
was bound to send thirty handsome boys of noble birth to Ireland every
year, to be sold as slaves for the benefit of the Irish king. On the
very day of Tristram’s return, Mark was about to deliver the thirty
boys into the hands of grim Morolt, Gurmun’s messenger, who had come to
receive them.
Tristram was very angry when he heard the news, and told the knights
they were cowards ever to have consented to such an arrangement. Then
going straight to Morolt, he tore up the treaty, saying it was too
inhuman to be kept. Morolt’s only answer was to draw his sword and
challenge him to single combat. He accepted, and the fight began. After
some time, Morolt, having severely wounded Tristram, cried:
“Yield, Sir Tristram: I feel pity for your youth. Yield, and my sister,
Queen Isolde, shall cure your wound, for she alone can heal a wound
made by my poisoned blade.”
“Death rather,” exclaimed the young knight, and making a mighty effort,
he split his adversary’s head open from crown to jaw.
This settled the matter. The Irish returned home sadly, bearing with
them the corpse of their hero, while the victor went back to his
uncle’s palace. His wound was washed and bound, but it would not heal.
It continued to fester, in spite of the use of balm, and other herbs of
well-known excellence. An experienced doctor who was called in to see
the patient, said that only the Irish queen Isolde, and her daughter of
the same name, possessed the art of drawing such poison out of a wound.
So Tristram determined to go to Ireland in the guise of a minstrel, and
seek healing at the hands of the queen, although he knew that Gurmun
had sworn to kill him and every Cornishman who had the misfortune to
fall into his hands.
At length he reached the Irish court, and there he played and sang so
beautifully that the queen sent for him, and begged him to teach his
art to her young daughter Isolde. The minstrel found the princess an
attentive pupil; and while teaching her, and listening to her sweet
voice as she sang some plaintive ditty, he would even forget for a time
the pain of his wound. And she, in learning from him, learnt to love
him with all the strength of her innocent young heart.
The days went on, and the pain of his wound grew worse and worse. Then
he told the queen of his suffering, and asked her to heal him. This she
at once consented to do, and a few weeks later he was cured. He now
sang with greater power than before, and the king was so charmed with
his music that he would have liked to keep him for ever at his court.
But, fearful of discovery, Tristram determined to be gone while yet
there was time.
On his return to Cornwall, he was joyfully received by all except the
great lords, who foresaw that King Mark would make him his heir, and
they did not wish to have a foreigner to rule over them. They wished
the king to marry, and Tristram, finding what was in their minds,
himself advised his uncle to choose a wife, saying that the Princess
Isolde of Ireland would be the most suitable person for him to wed.
After some deliberation, it was agreed that Tristram should go to King
Gurmun as his uncle’s ambassador, to ask for the hand of the princess.
Arrived in Ireland, he set out for the royal residence. On the way he
heard heralds proclaiming that the king would give his daughter in
marriage to whoever slew a dragon that was devastating the land,
provided he who rescued the country were of noble birth.
Tristram sought out the dragon, and, after a long struggle, killed it;
then cutting out the tongue of the creature, as a proof that he had
really slain it, he turned to go; but the pestiferous breath of the
monster so overpowered him, that he sank backward into the morass out
of which the dragon had come.
Struggle as he might, he could not free himself, for he had sunk up to
the shoulders. While in this miserable plight, he saw a horseman
approach, cut off the head of the dead monster, and then ride away.
The horseman was sewer (head waiter) at the palace. He showed the king
the dragon’s head, and boldly demanded the meed of victory. The queen,
who knew the man well, and held him to be a coward, did not believe his
tale; so she went with her train to the dragon’s hole, and discovered
the real hero in the morass. His bloody sword, and the dragons tongue
showed that it was he who had done the deed. He was quite insensible
when he was taken out of the morass and carried to the palace. The
princess at once recognised him to be the minstrel who had before
visited Ireland, and hoped that his birth was sufficiently good to
enable him to win the prize. The queen gave him a sleeping potion, and
told him to keep quiet. Then taking her daughter into the next room,
she showed her the horrible tongue of the lind-worm, and the sword with
which the creature was slain.
“Look,” she said, “the minstrel is the real hero of this adventure, and
not that cowardly sewer.”
She left the room, adding that the truth would soon be known. Isolde
took up the sword and examined it. She saw that a bit of the blade was
broken off.
“Merciful heaven,” she cried, “surely he cannot be the——” She ceased,
and took from a drawer the splinter of steel she had drawn out of the
wound on her uncle’s head. She fitted the splinter to the blade, and
saw that it was as she had feared.
“Ha,” she went on, trembling with anger, “he is the murderer of my
uncle Morolt. He must die, die by my hand, and be slain with his own
weapon.”
Seizing the sword in a firmer grip, she went into the room where
Tristram was sleeping, and swung the sword over his head; but as she
did so, he smiled as in a happy dream, and she could not do the deed.
Then it seemed to her that she saw her uncle looking at her
reproachfully, and she nerved her heart to strike, but at that moment
her hand was seized by her mother, who had entered unnoticed.
“Wretched child,” she cried, “what are you doing? Are you mad?”
Isolde told the queen that this was Tristram, her uncle’s murderer; and
the mother answered:
“I loved my brother dearly, but I cannot revenge him, for this man has
saved our people from the dragon, and a nation is worth more than a
single man, however dear to our hearts.”
Isolde confessed that her mother was right, and let her resentment die.
When Tristram had recovered, he did not show the dragon’s tongue in
proof of what he had done, but challenged the sewer to trial by combat.
Now the man had often fought before, but when he saw Tristram come
forth to meet him in the lists, his heart died within him, and he
confessed his guilt. King Gurmun thereupon ordered the recreant
knight’s shield to be broken, and sent him forth a banished man.
Tristram then fetched the dragon’s tongue, and was at once proclaimed
victor amid the acclamation of the people.
Great was the astonishment of all, when Tristram, instead of claiming
the princess’ hand, proceeded to woo her for his uncle King Mark, of
Cornwall. Gurmun had such a dislike to King Mark that he would have
refused him as a son-in-law point-blank, if Queen Isolde had not taken
part in the debate, and shown the wisdom of giving way. So Tristram
received a gracious answer from the king, and was content. No one
thought of asking the maiden if she were willing to marry the old king
of Cornwall. She was a princess, and princesses were never allowed a
choice, when reasons of State demanded that they should marry some
particular person.