theriac could never heal him they left him in God’s hands. So hateful
a stench came from his wound that all his dearest friends fled him,
all save King Mark, Gorvenal and Dinas of Lidan. They always could
stay near his couch because their love overcame their abhorrence. At
last Tristan had himself carried into a boat apart on the shore; and
lying facing the sea he awaited death, for he thought: “I must die;
but it is good to see the sun and my heart is still high. I would like
to try the sea that brings all chances. … I would have the sea bear me
far off alone, to what land no matter, so that it heal me of my
wound.”

He begged so long that King Mark accepted his desire. He bore him into
a boat with neither sail nor oar, and Tristan wished that his harp
only should be placed beside him: for sails he could not lift, nor oar
ply, nor sword wield; and as a seaman on some long voyage casts to the
sea a beloved companion dead, so Gorvenal pushed out to sea that boat
where his dear son lay; and the sea drew him away.

For seven days and seven nights the sea so drew him; at times to charm
his grief, he harped; and when at last the sea brought him near a
shore where fishermen had left their port that night to fish far out,
they heard as they rowed a sweet and strong and living tune that ran
above the sea, and feathering their oars they listened immovable.

In the first whiteness of the dawn they saw the boat at large: she
went at random and nothing seemed to live in her except the voice of
the harp. But as they neared, the air grew weaker and died; and when
they hailed her Tristan’s hands had fallen lifeless on the strings
though they still trembled. The fishermen took him in and bore him
back to port, to their lady who was merciful and perhaps would heal