And when the hunters found the body, as they followed,
they thought Tristan came after and they fled in fear of death, and
thereafter no man hunted in that wood. And far off, in the hut upon
their couch of leaves, slept Tristan and the Queen.
There came Gorvenal, noiseless, the dead man's head in his hands that
he might lift his master's heart at his awakening. He hung it by its
hair outside the hut, and the leaves garlanded it about. Tristan woke
and saw it, half hidden in the leaves, and staring at him as he gazed,
and he became afraid. But Gorvenal said: "Fear not, he is dead. I
killed him with this sword."
Then Tristan was glad, and henceforward from that day no one dared
enter the wild wood, for terror guarded it and the lovers were lords
of it all: and then it was that Tristan fashioned his bow "Failnaught"
which struck home always, man or beast, whatever it aimed at.
My lords, upon a summer day, when mowing is, a little after
Whitsuntide, as the birds sang dawn Tristan left his hut and girt his
sword on him, and took his bow "Failnaught" and went off to hunt in
the wood; but before evening, great evil was to fall on him, for no
lovers ever loved so much or paid their love so dear.
When Tristan came back, broken by the heat, the Queen said
"Friend, where have you been?"
"Hunting a hart," he said, "that wearied me.
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