"Why mourn you so, fair knight?" asked Palamides, mildly. "Or if you care not to tell, at least let me lie beside you and join my moans to yours, for I dare say I have a hundredfold deeper cause for grief, and we may ease our hearts by mutual complaints."
"What is your name, gentle sir?"
"Such as I am, for better or worse, men call me Palamides, son to King Astlabor."
"Noble sir, it solaces me much to meet you. I am Epinegris, son to the king of Northumberland. Now repose you on this mossy bank and let us tell our woes, and so ease somewhat our sad hearts."
Then Palamides dismounted and laid himself beside the wounded knight.
"This is my source of woe," he said. "I love the fairest queen that ever drew breath, La Belle Isolde, Cornwall's queen."
"That is sheer folly," said Epinegris, "for she loves none but Tristram de Lyonesse."
"Know I it not? I have been in their company this month, daily reaping sorrow. And now I have lost the fellowship of Tristram and the love of Isolde forever, through my envy and jealousy, and never more shall a glad thought enter my sorrowful heart."
"Did she ever show you signs of love?"
"Never. She hated me, I fear. And the last day we met she gave me such a rebuke that I will never recover from it:—yet well I deserved it by my unknightly acts. Many great deeds have I done for her love, yet never shall I win a smile from her eyes."