“But where,” said he, “is Iseult, the Queen, and her fair maid, Brangien?”
“In Tintagel too,” said the other, “and I saw them lately; the Queen sad, as she always is.”
At the hearing of the name, Tristan suffered, and he thought that neither by guile nor courage could he see that friend, for Mark would kill him.
And he thought, “Let him kill me and let me die for her, since every day I die. But you, Iseult, even if you knew me here, would you not drive me out?” And he thought, “I will try guile. I will seem mad, but with a madness that shall be great wisdom. And many shall think me a fool that have less wit than I.”
Just then a fisherman passed in a rough cloak and cape, and Tristan seeing him, took him aside, and said:
“Friend, will you not change clothes?”
And as the fisherman found it a very good bargain, he said in answer:
“Yes, friend, gladly.”
And he changed and ran off at once for fear of losing his gain. Then Tristan shaved his wonderful hair; he shaved it close to his head and left a cross all bald, and he rubbed his face with magic herbs distilled in his own country, and it changed in colour and skin so that none could know him, and he made him a club from a young tree torn from a hedge-row and hung it to his neck, and went bare-foot towards the castle.
The porter made sure that he had to do with a fool and said: