rk loved more than passing well.
He thought that Sir Tristram loved her too, and she him, and he was so
jealous of Sir Tristram that one day he and his knights, disguised, rode
after him to see if he had gone to meet her. And as Tristram came riding
back King Mark bore down on him, and they fought until the king was so
wounded that he lay on the ground as though dead, and Sir Tristram rode on
his way. He never knew that it was his uncle with whom he had fought, but
from that day to the day of his death, though they were fair-spoken to
each other, the king never forgave his nephew or loved him again.

Indeed, he hated him so much that he ever plotted to injure him, and at
last one day he thought of a plan by which he could ruin Tristram's
happiness, and probably get him killed as well.

Now it happened that when Sir Tristram had first returned from Ireland he
had told his uncle of La Belle Iseult, of her beauty, and grace, and
skill; for his heart was ever filled with love and admiration for her,
and to him she was the very fairest woman in the world. So to wound Sir
Tristram, and to take a sore and cruel revenge upon him, King Mark
determined to ask her in marriage for himself, and to make his cruelty the
greater, he determined that Sir Tristram should be the knight who should
go to Ireland as his ambassador to ask her hand of King Anguish, her
father.

Sending for Sir Tristram he laid his commands upon him, rejoicing in the
heavy task he was laying upon him, watching him closely to note how he
would bear it. But Sir Tristram, though sad at heart and deeply troubled,
bore himself bravely, and accepted the task; for to have refused it would
have been a cowardice and a shame, and not the conduct of a true knight.

Without delay he set about preparing for his sad journey. He had made
ready a large vessel, fitted in the most sumptuous manner possible,
and taking with him some chosen knights dressed in the most goodly style,
he set sail from Tintagel for Ireland. Before they had got far, though,
a fierce storm burst over them, and beat their vessel about until she was
driven back to England, to the coast of Camelot, where King Arthur dwelt,
and right glad they were to take to the land.

There, when they were landed, Sir Tristram set up his tent, and hanging
his shield without it, lay down to rest. Hardly, though, was he lain
down, before two knights of the Round Table, Sir Ector de Maris and Sir
Morganor, came and