Therewith he harped so sweetly that the notes crept into Iseult`s heart and bare her thoughts so far hence that she ceased weeping, and thought but of her love.
Now, when the lay was ended, the water had come up to the bark, and it floated, so that they on board cried to the haven: “Sir, sir, come aboard; if my lord Tristan comes whilst thou art yet ashore, we shall have but an ill time! Folk and land alike are in his power—also he himself, so they say, is of such wondrous daring, so valiant and strong, he will likely do thee a mischief.”
This was unpleasing to Gandin, and he said angrily: “Now may heaven hate me if I stir hence a moment earlier for that! Comrade, play me the Lay of Dido; thou dost harp so sweetly that I must needs love thee for it. Now play, and banish my lady`s sorrow. Out of love for thee will I bear thee hence with her and me, and will give thee all I have promised thee, yea, and more!”
“So be it,” quoth Tristan.
Running so Strong
The minstrel touched his harp again; and he played so sweetly that Gandin listened eagerly, and Iseult was all intent on the music. And when it had ended the knight took the queen by the hand, and would lead her aboard, but by now was the tide so high and running so strong that no man might reach the bark save on horseback. “What shall we do now,” asked Gandin. “How may my lady come aboard?”
“See, Sir Knight,” quoth the minstrel, “since I am sure thou wilt take me hence with thee, I think but little of what I have here in Cornwall. I have a horse near by; I ween he shall be tall enough to carry my lady, thy friend, over to the bark without the sea wetting her.”
Gandin said: “Good minstrel, haste, bring thy horse hither, and take also the robe I promised thee.”
Tristan fetched his horse swiftly, and when he came back he swung his harp behind him and cried: “Now, knight of Ireland, give me my lady, I will carry her before me through the water.”
“Nay, minstrel, thou shalt not touch her; I will carry her myself.” “Nay, sir,” said fair Iseult, “ `tis needless to say he shall not touch me. Know the truth, I go not aboard save the minstrel bear me.” Then Gandin led her to Tristan. “Comrade,” he said, “have a care of her—carry her so gently that I shall be ever grateful to thee.”
Now as soon as Tristan held Iseult he spurred his steed forward, and when Gandin saw it he spake in wrath: “Ha, fool, what dost thou?” “Nay, nay, fool Gandin,” quoth Tristan, “ `tis thou who art the fool; what thou didst steal from King Mark by the lute, that I do bear away with my harp. Thou didst betray, now art thou betrayed. Tristan has followed thee till he has befooled thee! Friend, thou hast indeed given me a rich garment, even the richest that thy tent did hold.”
With that Tristan rode his way, leaving Gandin, beyond measure sorrowful; his loss and his shame cut him to the heart; mourning, he returned overseas.
Tristan and Iseult rode homeward, rejoicing in their love; and when they came to the palace, Tristan led the queen to King Mark, and spake bitterly: “Sire, God knoweth, if thou dost hold thy queen so dear as thou sayest, `tis a great folly to give her up lightly for mere lute or play! The world may well mock! Whoever saw a queen the chattel of a way? Henceforth bethink thee, and guard my lady better.”
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