"
And each rousing the other to the fray they passed into the isle.
No man saw the sharp combat; but thrice the salt sea-breeze had wafted
or seemed to waft a cry of fury to the land, when at last towards the
hour of noon the purple sail showed far off; the Irish boat appeared
from the island shore, and there rose a clamour of "the Morholt!" When
suddenly, as the boat grew larger on the sight and topped a wave, they
saw that Tristan stood on the prow holding a sword in his hand. He
leapt ashore, and as the mothers kissed the steel upon his feet he
cried to the Morholt's men:
"My lords of Ireland, the Morholt fought well. See here, my sword is
broken and a splinter of it stands fast in his head. Take you that
steel, my lords; it is the tribute of Cornwall."
Then he went up to Tintagel and as he went the people he had freed
waved green boughs, and rich cloths were hung at the windows. But when
Tristan reached the castle with joy, songs and joy-bells sounding
about him, he drooped in the arms of King Mark, for the blood ran from
his wounds.
The Morholt's men, they landed in Ireland quite cast down. For when
ever he came back into Whitehaven the Morholt had been wont to take
joy in the sight of his clan upon the shore, of the Queen his sister,
and of his niece Iseult the Fair.
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