Then Balen gazed upon him long, And thought, “If here I wreak my wrong, Alive I may not scape, so strong The felon’s friends about him throng; And if I leave him here alive, This chance perchance may life not give Again: much evil, if he live, He needs must do, should fear forgive When wrongs bid strike and strive.” And Garlon, seeing how Balen’s eye Dwelt on him as his heart waxed high With joy in wrath to see him nigh, Rose wolf-like with a wolfish cry And crossed and smote him on the face, Saying, “Knight, what wouldst thou with me? Eat, For shame, and gaze not: eat thy meat Do that thou art come for: stands thy seat Next ours of royal race?” “Well hast thou said: thy rede rings true; That which I came for will I do,” Quoth Balen: forth his fleet sword flew, And clove the head of Garlon through Clean to the shoulders. Then he cried Loud to his lady, “Give me here The truncheon of the shameful spear Wherewith he slew your knight, when fear Bade hate in darkness ride.” And gladly, bright with grief made glad, She gave the truncheon as he bade, For still she bare it with her, sad And strong in hopeless hope she had, Through all dark days of thwarting fear, To see if doom should fall aright And as God’s fire-fraught thunder smite That head, clothed round with hell-faced night, Bare now before her here. And Balen smote therewith the dead Dark felon’s body through, and said Aloud, “With even this truncheon, red With baser blood than brave men bled Whom in thy shameful hand it slew, Thou hast slain a nobler knight, and now It clings and cleaves thy body: thou Shall cleave again no brave man’s brow, Though hell would aid anew.” And toward his host he turned and spake; “Now for your son’s long-suffering sake Blood ye may fetch enough, and take Wherewith to heal his hurt, and make Death warm as life.” Then rose a cry Loud as the wind’s when stormy spring Makes all the woodland rage and ring: “Thou hast slain my brother,” said the king, “And here with him shalt die.” “Ay?” Balen laughed him answer. “Well, Do it then thyself.” And the answer fell Fierce as a blast of hate from hell, “No man of mine that with me dwell Shall strike at thee but I their lord For love of this my brother slain.” And Pellam caught and grasped amain A grim great weapon, fierce and fain To feed his hungering sword. And eagerly he smote, and sped Not well: for Balen’s blade, yet red With lifeblood of the murderous dead, Between the swordstroke and his head Shone, and the strength of the eager stroke Shore it in sunder: then the knight, Naked and weaponless for fight, Ran seeking him a sword to smite As hope within him woke.