the steel she had found in the skull and she put it to the sword, and
it fitted so that the join was hardly seen.

She ran to where Tristan lay wounded, and with the sword above him she
cried:

“You are that Tristan of the Lyonesse, who killed the Morholt, my
mother’s brother, and now you shall die in your turn.”

Tristan strained to ward the blow, but he was too weak; his wit,
however, stood firm in spite of evil and he said:

“So be it, let me die: but to save yourself long memories, listen
awhile. King’s daughter, my life is not only in your power but is
yours of right. My life is yours because you have twice returned it
me. Once, long ago: for I was the wounded harper whom you healed of
the poison of the Morholt’s shaft. Nor repent the healing: were not
these wounds had in fair fight? Did I kill the Morholt by treason? Had
he not defied me and was I not held to the defence of my body? And now
this second time also you have saved me. It was for you I fought the
beast.

“But let us leave these things. I would but show you how my life is
your own. Then if you kill me of right for the glory of it, you may
ponder for long years, praising yourself that you killed a wounded
guest who had wagered his life in your gaining.”

Iseult replied: “I hear strange words. Why should he that killed the
Morholt seek me also, his niece? Doubtless because the Morholt came
for a tribute of maidens from Cornwall, so you came to boast returning