Tristan now for the first time heard the story of his father’s death, and refused to rest until he had avenged him.  He immediately set out, slew Morgan, and recovered his father’s estate of Lyonesse, which he intrusted to Kurvenal’s care, while he himself went back to Cornwall.  On arriving at Tintagel he was surprised to find all the court plunged in sorrow.  Upon inquiring the cause he was informed that Morold, brother of the King of Ireland, had come to claim the usual tribute of three hundred pounds of silver and tin and three hundred promising youths to be sold into slavery.

Indignant at this claim, which had been enforced ever since Mark had been defeated in battle by the Irish king, Tristan boldly strode up to the emissary, tore the treaty in two, flung the pieces in his face, and challenged him to single combat.  Morold, confident in his strength,—­for he was a giant,—­and relying particularly upon his poisoned sword, immediately accepted the challenge.  When the usual preliminaries had been settled, the battle began.

    “Sir Morold rode upon his steed,
    And flew against Tristan with speed
    Still greater than is falcons’ flight;
    But warlike too was Tristan’s might.” 
                GOTTFRIED VON STRASSBURG (Dippold’s tr.).

Terrible blows were given and received, and at last Tristan sank to the ground on one knee, for his opponent’s poisoned weapon had pierced his side.

Morold then called upon him to acknowledge himself beaten, promising to obtain a balsam from his sister Iseult (Isolde, Ysolde), who knew a remedy for such a dangerous wound.  But Tristan, remembering that, if he surrendered, three hundred innocent children would be sold as slaves, made a last despairing effort, and slew Morold.  Such was the force of the blow he dealt that he cut through the helmet and pierced Morold’s skull, which was so hard that a fragment of his sword remained imbedded within the wound.

The people of Cornwall were, of course, delighted; and while the Irish heralds returned empty-handed to Dublin with Morold’s remains, the King of Cornwall loudly proclaimed that as he had no son, Tristan should be his heir.

[Sidenote:  Tristan’s wound.] Tristan, however, was far from happy, for the wound in his side refused to heal, and gradually became so offensive that no one could bear his presence.  As none of the court doctors could relieve him, he remembered Morold’s words, and resolved to go to Ireland, in hopes that Iseult would cure him.  Conscious, however, that she would never consent to help him if she suspected his identity, he embarked alone, or with Kurvenal, in a small vessel, taking only his harp, and drifted toward Ireland, where he arrived at the end of fifteen days.  When he appeared at court, Tristan declared that he was a wandering minstrel called Tantris, and bespoke the kind offices of the queen, Iseult.  Charmed by his music, she hastened to cure him of the grievous wound from which he had suffered so much.