returning upon itself, struck Gugemar in the thigh, so grievously,
that straightway he fell from his horse upon the ground. Gugemar lay
upon the grass, beside the deer which he had wounded to his hurt. He
heard her sighs and groans, and perceived the bitterness of her pity.
Then with mortal speech the doe spake to the wounded man in such
fashion as this, "Alas, my sorrow, for now am I slain. But thou,
Vassal, who hast done me this great wrong, do not think to hide from
the vengeance of thy destiny. Never may surgeon and his medicine heal
your hurt. Neither herb nor root nor potion can ever cure the wound
within your flesh: For that there is no healing. The only balm to
close that sore must be brought by a woman, who for her love will
suffer such pain and sorrow as no woman in the world has endured
before. And to the dolorous lady, dolorous knight. For your part you
shall do and suffer so great things for her, that not a lover beneath
the sun, or lovers who are dead, or lovers who yet shall have their
day, but shall marvel at the tale. Now, go from hence, and let me die
in peace."

Gugemar was wounded twice over--by the arrow, and by the words he was
dismayed to hear. He considered within himself to what land he must go
to find this healing for his hurt, for he was yet too young to die. He
saw clearly, and told it to his heart, that there was no lady in his
life to whom he could run for pity, and be made whole of his wound. He
called his varlet before him,

"Friend," said he, "go forthwith, and bring my comrades to this place,
for I have to speak with them."

The varlet went upon his errand, leaving his master sick with the heat
and fever of his hurt. When he was gone, Gugemar tore the hem from his