evere wound in the side from the spear of his
adversary.

Heedless of this, he drew his sword and met Marhaus boldly and bravely.
Then they began a fierce and desperate fight, striking and foining,
rushing together in furious onset, and drawing back in cautious heed,
while the ring of sword on armor was like that of hammer on anvil. Hours
passed in the fight, and the blood flowed freely from the wounds which
each had received, yet still they stood boldly up to the combat. But
Tristram proved a stronger and better-winded man than Marhaus, and was
still fresh when his enemy was growing weary and faint. At the end he
threw all his strength into his right arm, and smote Marhaus so mighty
a blow on the helm that it cut down through the steel covering and deep
into his head, the sword sticking so fast that Tristram could hardly
pull it out.

When he did so the edge of the sword was left in the skull, and the
wounded knight fell heavily on his knees. But in a minute he rose and,
flinging his sword and shield away, fled hastily to his ships.

"Why do you withdraw, Knight of the Round Table?" cried Tristram. "I am
but a young knight, but before I would fly from an adversary I would
abide to be cut into a thousand pieces."

Marhaus answered only with deep groans of pain and distress.

"Go thy way then, sir knight," said Tristram. "I promise you your sword
and shield shall be mine, and I will wear your shield in the sight of
King Arthur and all the Round Table, to let them see that Cornwall is
not a land of cowards."

While he stood thus, hot with anger, the sails of the ships were spread,
and the fleet sailed away, leaving the victor alone on the island. He
was deeply wounded and had bled profusely, and when he grew cold from
rest could hardly move his limbs. So he seated himself upon a little
hillock, while his wounds still bled freely. But Gouvernail, who had
kept within sight in the vessel, and had seen the end of the combat, now
hastened gladly to the island, where he bound up the young knight's
wounds, and then brought him to the main land. Here King Mark and his
barons came in procession to meet him, their hearts full of joy and
triumph, and the victor was borne in glad procession to the castle of
Tintagil. When King Mark saw his deep and perilous wounds he wept
heartily, and cried,--

"God help me, I would not for all my lands that my nephew should die!"

But Tristram lay in groaning pain for more than a month, ev