"However that be," said Galahad, "you have done me a great wrong, and must yield or die."
"Then I must yield, since you treat me so unfairly. I accepted your challenge, not that of all your followers. To yield thus puts me to no dishonor."
And he took his sword by the point and put the pommel in the hand of his opponent. But despite this action the king and his knights came on, and made a second attack on the unarmed warrior.
"Let him be," cried Sir Galahad. "I have given him his life, and no man shall harm him."
"Shame is it in you to say so!" cried the king. "Has he not slain your father and mother?"
"For that I cannot blame him greatly. My father held him in prison, and forced him to fight to the death. The custom was a wicked and cruel one, and could have but one end. Long ago, it drove me from my father's castle, for I could not favor it by any presence."
"It was a sinful custom, truly," said the king.
"So I deem it, and it would be a pity that this brave knight should die in such a cause, for I know no one save Lancelot du Lake who is his equal. Now, fair knight, will you tell me your name?"
"My name is Tristram of Lyonesse, and I am on my way to the court of King Mark of Cornwall, taking to him La Belle Isolde, the daughter of King Anguish of Ireland, whom he desires to wed."
"Then you are welcome to these marches, and all that I demand of you is that you promise to go to Lancelot du Lake, and become his fellow. I shall promise that no such custom shall ever be used in this castle again."
"You will do well," said Tristram. "I would have you know that when I began to fight with you I fancied you were Lancelot. And I promise, as soon as I may, to seek him, for of all the knights in the world I most desire his fellowship."
[Illustration: TRISTRAM AND THE FAIR ISOLDE.]
Soon afterwards Tristram and his fair companion resumed their journey, and in due time reached Cornwall. But as they came near Tintagil their hearts were ready to break, for that magic draught was still in their veins, and they loved each other with a love that was past all telling.
Thoughts came into Tristram's heart to marry the maiden in despite of custom and his plighted word, and gladly would she have consented thereto. But strong as was his love, his honor was stronger, and Isolde, deeply as she grieved, could not ask him to break his word. And thus for many long miles they journeyed onward side by side in silence, their eyes alone speaking, but they telling a story of love and grief to which they dared not give words, lest their hearts' desire should burst all boundaries of faith and honor, and men's condemnation come to them both.