‘God, our true King, I have had many fine shots with bow and arrow: grant me not to miss with this one! I can see one of the three Cornish villains standing outside there. God, who allowed Your Own most holy body to suffer death for your people’s sake, let me avenge myself on these villains for all the wrong they have done me!’

Then he turned to the wall. The bow had many times been bent, and now he shot. The arrow flew so fast that nothing could have escaped it. It pierced Godwin’s eye and went deep into his head and his brain. No hawks or swallows could fly with half the speed of that arrow; it would not have gone more easily into a soft apple. He fell and struck a post; he lay without moving hand or foot. He was not even able to say, ‘I am wounded. God, confession!’

Beroul's Tristan