At first she did not guess the marvel, but thought her consolation was because the gift was Tristan’s, till one day she found that it was fairy, and that it was the little bell that charmed her soul; then she thought:  “What have I to do with comfort since he is sorrowing?  He could have kept it too and have forgotten his sorrow; but with high courtesy he sent it to me to give me his joy and to take up his pain again.  Friend, while you suffer, so long will I suffer also.”

And she took the magic bell and shook it just a little, and then by the open window she threw it into the sea.

ISEULT OF THE WHITE HANDS

Apart the lovers could neither live nor die, for it was life and death together; and Tristan fled his sorrow through seas and islands and many lands.

He fled his sorrow still by seas and islands, till at last he came back to his land of Lyonesse, and there Rohalt, the keeper of faith, welcomed him with happy tears and called him son.  But he could not live in the peace of his own land, and he turned again and rode through kingdoms and through baronies, seeking adventure.  From the Lyonesse to the Lowlands, from the Lowlands on to the Germanies; through the Germanies and into Spain.  And many lords he served, and many deeds did, but for two years no news came to him out of Cornwall, nor friend, nor messenger.  Then he thought that Iseult had forgotten.

Now it happened one day that, riding with Gorvenal alone, he came into the land of Brittany.  They rode through a wasted plain of ruined walls and empty hamlets and burnt fields everywhere, and the earth deserted of men; and Tristan thought: 

“I am weary, and my deeds profit me nothing; my lady is far off and I shall never see her again.  Or why for two years has she made no sign, or why has she sent no messenger to find me as I wandered?  But in Tintagel Mark honours her and she gives him joy, and that little fairy bell has done a thorough work; for little she remembers or cares for the joys and the mourning of old, little for me, as I wander in this desert place.  I, too, will forget.”

On the third day, at the hour of noon, Tristan and Gorvenal came near a hill where an old chantry stood and close by a hermitage also; and Tristan asked what wasted land that was, and the hermit answered: 

“Lord, it is Breton land which Duke Hod holds, and once it was rich in pasture and ploughland, but Count Riol of Nantes has wasted it.  For you must know that this Count Riol was the Duke’s vassal.  And the Duke has a daughter, fair among all King’s daughters, and Count Riol would have taken her to wife; but her father refused her to a vassal, and Count Riol would have carried her away by force.  Many men have died in that quarrel.”

And Tristan asked: 

“Can the Duke wage his war?”

And the hermit answered: 

“Hardly, my lord; yet his last keep of Carhaix holds out still, for the walls are strong, and strong is the heart of the Duke’s son Kaherdin, a very good knight and bold; but the enemy surrounds them on every side and starves them.  Very hardly do they hold their castle.”