Tristan had known, ever since his
childhood, that art by which a man may sing the song of birds in the
woods, and at his fancy, he would call as call the thrush, the
blackbird and the nightingale, and all winged things; and sometimes in
reply very many birds would come on to the branches of his hut and
sing their song full-throated in the new light.
The lovers had ceased to wander through the forest, for none of the
barons ran the risk of their pursuit knowing well that Tristan would
have hanged them to the branches of a tree. One day, however, one of
the four traitors, Guenelon, whom God blast! drawn by the heat of the
hunt, dared enter the Morois. And that morning, on the forest edge in
a ravine, Gorvenal, having unsaddled his horse, had let him graze on
the new grass, while far off in their hut Tristan held the Queen, and
they slept. Then suddenly Gorvenal heard the cry of the pack; the
hounds pursued a deer, which fell into that ravine. And far on the
heath the hunter showed -- and Gorvenal knew him for the man whom his
master hated above all. Alone, with bloody spurs, and striking his
horse's mane, he galloped on; but Gorvenal watched him from ambush: he
came fast, he would return more slowly. He passed and Gorvenal leapt
from his ambush and seized the rein and, suddenly, remembering all the
wrong that man had done, hewed him to death and carried off his head
in his hands.
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