by Michael Foss
Then knights and squires assayed to wake him, but he fell on slumbering again, neither full sleeping nor quite waking. And it seemed that Sir Gawain came to him with a number of fair ladies, all of whom the king gladly welcomed, saying, ‘My sister’s son, O welcome, for I weened you were dead. Fair nephew, what be these ladies come hither with you?’
‘Sir’, answered Gawain, ‘all these be ladies for whom I have fought in righteous quarrel when I was a living man. God has given them leave to bring me hither, to warn you of your death. For if you fight tomorrow with Sir Mordred, doubt not that you must be slain, and most of your people also, of both parties. In no wise do battle, but take a treaty for a month. Proffer you largely to gain this delay. For within a month Sir Lancelot and all his noble knights shall come and rescue you with honour, and slay Sir Mordred and those with him.’
Therewith Sir Gawain and all the ladies vanished. When the king awoke, he took counsel of noble lords. Then he commanded Sir Lucan the Butler, and his brother Sir Bedevere, with two bishops, to take a treaty for a month with Sir Mordred. ‘Spare not,’ said the king, ‘but proffer him lands and goods as much as you think best.’
So they came to Sir Mordred with his grim host of a hundred thousand men, and they entreated him long time. At last, to make the treaty, Mordred agreed to have Cornwall and Kent in Arthur’s days, and to have all England after the king’s death. And to seal agreement to this end, they two, Arthur and Mordred, consented to meet betwixt the hosts, each in company with no more than fourteen persons.
As he departed unto this meeting, King Arthur warned all his people, saying to them, ‘If you see any sword drawn, look that you come on fiercely and slay that traitor Mordred, for I in no wise trust him.’
And in likewise did Sir Mordred warn his own host, for he knew well that his father would be avenged on him.
So they met betwixt the hosts, and were agreed and accorded thoroughly. Wine was fetched and they drank. Right so an adder came out of a little bush of the heath, and it stung a knight on the foot. When the knight felt this sting, he drew his sword to slay the adder, and thought of no other harm. But when the hosts on both sides saw this sword drawn, then they blew bugles, trumpets and horns, and shouted most grimly. Both parties flew to arms, and dressed themselves together.
Never was seen a more doleful battle in Christian land. Thus they fought all the long day, and never stinted till the noble knights were laid to the cold earth. When night fell upon that dismal day, there were a hundred thousand dead upon the down. Then King Arthur looked about him in the shambles and saw that of all his good knights but two were left alive. One was Sir Lucan the Butler and the other was his brother Sir Bedevere, and they were both full sore wounded.
Then the king looked about the grim field again, and saw that Sir Mordred leant upon his sword among a great heap of dead men.
‘Now give me my spear,’ said Arthur unto Sir Lucan, ‘for yonder I have espied the traitor.’
‘Sir, let him be,’ said Sir Lucan, ‘for he is unhappy. If you pass this day, you shall be right well revenged. My good lord, remember your night’s dream. God of His great goodness still preserves you. Therefore, for God’s sake, leave off this. You have won the field, for here we be three alive, and with Sir Mordred is none alive. If you leave off now, this wicked day of destiny is past.’
‘Come death, come life,’ cried the king, ‘now I see him yonder alone he shall never escape my hands, for I shall never have him at better avail.’
‘God speed you well,’ said Sir Bedevere.
So the king got his spear in both his hands and ran towards Sir Mordred, crying, ‘Traitor, now is your death day come!’
When Sir Mordred heard King Arthur, he roused himself and ran at him with sword held high. As they hurtled together, the king smote Mordred under the shield, piercing him throughout the body with his spear, more than a fathom. When he felt this death wound, Sir Mordred plunged himself with all his might up to the hand-guard of his father’s spear. Face-to-face, in labouring breath and out-bursting blood, Sir Mordred took his sword in both his hands and smote his father King Arthur on the side of the head, so that the sword cleaved the helmet and the brainpan. Therewith Sir Mordred could do no more and fell stark dead, while noble Arthur swooned away to the earth.
In haste, Sir Lucan and Sir Bedevere heaved up Arthur and weakly bore him betwixt them to a little chapel not far from the sea. As the king waked, and eased himself there, they heard behind them the cry of folk in the field. Then, at the king’s asking, Sir Lucan went, though he was grievously wounded in many places, to see what betokened that noise.
He hearkened by moonlight, and heard and saw how pillagers and robbers were come into the field to pillage and rob many a full noble knight. And if there were poor knights not yet dead, there they slew them for their harness and riches. When Sir Lucan understood this work, he judged it most safe that the king should be taken from thence.
‘I would it were so,’ said the king, ‘but I may not stand, my head works so.’
Betwixt them, Lucan and Bedevere strove to lift the swooning king. But Sir Lucan fell with the lift, and part of his guts came out of his body, and therewith this noble knight’s heart burst. Then the king was conscious that Sir Lucan lay foaming at the mouth, and a part of his guts lay at his feet.
‘This is a full heavy sight,’ lamented Arthur, ‘to see this noble duke so to die for my sake. Alas, he would not complain, his heart was so set to help me. Now Jesu have mercy upon his soul.’
Then Sir Bedevere wept for the death of his brother.
‘Leave this mourning and weeping’, said the king. ‘If I might live myself, the death of Sir Lucan would grieve me ever more. But my time hies fast. Therefore take you Excalibur, my good sword, and go with it to yonder waterside, and there I charge you throw my sword in the water, and come again and tell me what you see there.’
As Sir Bedevere departed, he beheld that the pommel and haft of that noble sword were all of precious stones. He said to himself, ‘No good will come if I throw this rich sword in the water, but only harm and loss.’ So he hid Excalibur under a tree.
When he came again to the king, Arthur said, ‘What saw you there?’
‘Sir, I saw nothing but waves and wind.’
‘That is untruly said. Therefore go lightly again, and do my command.’
Sir Bedevere went again, with the sword in his hand. But still he thought it sin and shame to throw away so noble a sword. So again he hid the sword, and returned again to the king.
‘What saw you there?’ asked the king once more.
‘Sir, I saw nothing but the waters lap and the waves grow wan.’
‘Ah, traitor untrue,’ said King Arthur, ‘now have you betrayed me twice. Who would have thought that so dear and noble a knight would betray me for the riches of a sword? Now go lightly, for your long tarrying puts me in great jeopardy of my life. My wound takes cold. Would you, for my rich sword, see me dead?’
Then Sir Bedevere went a third time to the waterside. He took the sword, and bound the girdle about the hilt, and threw it as far into the water as he might. An arm and a hand rose above the water and caught the sword, and shook it thrice and brandished it. Then the hand vanished away with the sword into the water. With that, Sir Bedevere returned again to Arthur and told him what he saw.
Then Sir Bedevere took the king upon his back and carried him to the waterside. Fast by the bank, there hoved a little barge with many fair ladies in it. They all had black hoods, and they wept and shrieked when they saw King Arthur.
‘Now put me into the barge’, said the king.
Softly they did so, and three queens received him there with great mourning. So he lay him down, and his head was in a queen’s lap.
‘Ah, dear brother’, said that queen, ‘why have you tarried so long from me? Alas, this wound on your head has caught overmuch cold.’
Then they rowed slowly from the land. And as Sir Bedevere beheld them all go from him
, he cried out, ‘My lord Arthur, what shall become of me, now you go from me, and leave me here alone among my enemies?’
‘Comfort yourself’, said the king, ‘and do as well as you may, for in me you may trust no further. I will go into the Vale of Avilion to heal me of my grievous wound. If you hear never more of me, pray for my soul.’
As they went, ever the queens and ladies wept loud, that it was pity to hear, till soon Sir Bedevere lost sight of the barge. Then he wept and wailed and took the way into the forest, and so he went on all that night. In the morn, he saw a chapel and a hermitage betwixt two steep grey woods. When he came into the chapel, he saw a hermit grovelling on all fours, fast by a new-dug tomb. Sir Bedevere knew this hermit well, for but a little before he was the Bishop of Canterbury, whom Sir Mordred had made to flee.
‘What man is here interred,’ asked Bedevere, ‘that you pray so fast for him?’
‘Fair son,’ replied the hermit, ‘I know not verily. This night, at midnight, there came a number of ladies and brought hither a dead corpse. They prayed me to bury him, and offered here a hundred tapers, and they gave me a hundred bezants.’
‘Alas,’ cried Sir Bedevere, ‘that was my lord King Arthur.’
So there abode Sir Bedevere, with the hermit that was before Bishop of Canterbury. He put upon him poor clothes, and served the hermit full lowly in fasting and prayers.
When all this battle was done, word came anon to Queen Guenevere, and she understood that all were slain. King Arthur was slain, and all the noble knights, and Sir Mordred, and all the remnant. Then the queen stole away, with five ladies, and so she went to Almesbury. There she became a nun, and wore clothes white and black. She took great penance, as ever did sinful lady in this land, and no creature could make her merry, but she lived in fasting, prayers and alms-deeds, so that all manner of people marvelled how virtuously she was changed. Thus in Almesbury she was a nun, in white and black, until she became abbess and ruler there.
Meanwhile, in France, it had been told Sir Lancelot how Sir Mordred was crowned king in England, and how he laid siege to Queen Guenevere in the Tower of London because she would not wed him. Then was Sir Lancelot angry out of measure, and spoke unto his kinsmen.
‘Alas, that double traitor Sir Mordred,’ he lamented. ‘Now I repent me that he ever escaped my hands, for much shame has he done unto my lord Arthur. And by this doleful letter that my lord Gawain has sent me, on whose soul Jesu have mercy, I see my lord Arthur is hard beset. Know you well that Sir Gawain’s doleful words, praying me to see his tomb, shall never go from my heart. For he was as full noble a knight as ever was born. O unhappy hour of my birth, that ever I should slay first Sir Gawain, then Gaheris the good knight, and my own true friend, noble Sir Gareth. And yet I could not slay that traitor Sir Mordred.’
‘Enough complaints,’ replied Sir Bors. ‘First avenge the death of Sir Gawain, and it will be well done that you see his tomb. Then avenge you my lord Arthur and my lady Queen Guenevere.’
‘I thank you,’ said Sir Lancelot humbly to Bors, ‘for ever you think of my honour.’
So Sir Lancelot landed at Dover with seven kings, and the number of his army was hideous to behold. And the people of the town took Sir Lancelot to the Castle of Dover and showed him Sir Gawain’s tomb.
At the tomb Sir Lancelot knelt down and wept, and prayed heartily for the soul of Sir Gawain. Then he put on a mourning gown and with his own hand dealt his money, so that all who asked had as much flesh, fish, wine and ale as they wished, and every man and woman had twelve pence, come who would. On the morn the priests and clerks sang a Mass of requiem, and there was great offering. Sir Lancelot offered a hundred pounds, and the seven kings offered forty pounds apiece, and each of a thousand knights offered a pound. And this offering lasted from morn to night. Sir Lancelot lay two nights on the tomb weeping and praying, and on the third day he spoke to all the barons.
‘Fair lords,’ said he, ‘I thank you all of your coming, but we came too late. Against death, alas, may no man rebel. I will myself ride and seek my lady Queen Guenevere, for as I hear she has had great pain and much disease. Abide me here and if I come not within fifteen days, take your ships and your fellowship and depart into your country.’
‘My lord Lancelot,’ said Sir Bors, ‘what shall you do, now riding in this realm? You shall find few friends.’
‘Be as be may,’ replied Lancelot, ‘keep you still here. I will forth on my journey, and no man nor child shall go with me.’
So he departed and rode westerly. In those countries he searched seven or eight days, and at last he came to a nunnery. And of a sudden Queen Guenevere saw Sir Lancelot as he walked in the cloister. At this, all her ladies and gentlewomen had work enough to hold the queen up.
After a time, when she might speak, she said to them, ‘You marvel, fair ladies, why I make this fare. Truly, it is for the sight of the knight that stands yonder. I pray you all, call him to me.’
Sir Lancelot was brought to her, and again she said to her ladies, ‘Through this man and me has all this war been wrought, and the death of the most noble knights of the world. And through our love together is my most noble lord Arthur slain. Sir Lancelot, know you well that I am set to get my soul’s health. After my death, I trust through God’s grace to see the blessed face of Christ, and at Doomsday to sit at His right side. For sinful as I ever was, even so were saints in heaven. Therefore, Sir Lancelot, I require and beseech you heartily, for all the love that was ever betwixt us, that you never see me more face to face. I command you, forsake my company and turn to your kingdom again, and keep well your realm from war and wrack. Take there a wife, and live with her in joy and bliss. And pray for me to Our Lord that I may amend my misliving.’
‘How now, sweet madam,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘wed a lady? Nay, madam, that shall I never do, for I shall never be so false to you. But the same destiny that you have taken, I also will take me unto, to please Jesu, and ever for you I cast me specially to pray.’
‘If you will do so,’ replied the queen, ‘hold your promise. But I may never believe except that you will turn to the world again.’
‘Well, madam, you never knew me false of my promise. In the name of God I shall forsake the world. For in the quest of the Sangrail I would have forsaken the vanities of the world had it not been for your love. Therefore, lady, since you have taken you to perfection, I must needs do likewise, of right. For I take record of God, in you have I had my earthly joy, and if I had found you now so disposed, I would gladly have placed you in my own realm. But since I find you as you are, I ensure you faithfully that I will ever take me to penance, and pray while my life lasts. Wherefore, madam, I pray you kiss me and never no more.’
‘Nay,’ said the queen, ‘that shall I never do. But abstain you from such works.’
Now there was lamentation as if they had been stung with spears. The ladies bore the queen to her chamber, and Sir Lancelot took his horse and rode weeping all that day and all night in a forest.
On the morn he came to a chapel betwixt two cliffs, and he heard a little bell ring for Mass. He alighted and tied his horse to the gate, and heard Mass. And he saw that the priest that sang Mass was the Bishop of Canterbury. Sir Bedevere was there also, upon his knees, and after Mass they all spake together. Sir Bedevere told his tale all whole, and Sir Lancelot’s heart almost burst for sorrow when he heard of Arthur’s battle upon the heath. He threw his arms open wide and cried, ‘Alas, who may trust this world?’
Then the good bishop shrived Sir Lancelot and absolved him, and put a religious habit on him. So there Sir Lancelot remained, serving God day and night with prayers and fastings.
In the meantime, the great host from France abode at Dover. After the appointed time for Sir Lancelot’s return, Sir Lionel went with fifteen lords and rode to London to seek him. There he was unkindly met by men-at-arms who slew him and many of his lords. At this, Sir Bors ordained that the host should go home again, as Sir Lancelot had wished it. B
ut Sir Bors, Sir Ector, Sir Blamor and Sir Bleoberis, with some other of Lancelot’s kin, took on them to ride all England across and along to seek Sir Lancelot.
By fortune, after much travel, Sir Bors came to that same chapel where Sir Lancelot was. He saw him at Mass in the religious clothing, and then Bors also prayed the bishop that he might be in the same suit. A habit was put upon him, and he lived there in most religious wise.
Within half a year, seven more noble knights came there and abode. When they saw that Sir Lancelot had taken him to such perfection, they had no lust to depart, but took a habit as he had. For six years they endured in great penance, and then Sir Lancelot took the clothing of priesthood from the bishop, and a twelvemonth he sang Mass. And all of those noble knights read in holy books and helped to sing Mass, and rang bells, and did all manner of lowly service. So their horses went wildly where they would, for the masters took no regard of worldly riches.
Then upon a night there came a vision to Sir Lancelot that charged him, in remission of his sins, to haste him unto Almesbury. Sir Lancelot took his seven followers and on foot they went from Glastonbury to Almesbury, which is little more than thirty miles. Thither they came within two days, for they were weak and feeble and walked but slowly. They came at last within the nunnery at Almesbury, and they found that Queen Guenevere had died but half an hour before.
The queen had told her ladies, before she passed, that Sir Lancelot was priest. ‘Hither he shall come,’ she told them, ‘as fast as he may to fetch my corpse. Then he shall bury me beside my lord King Arthur.’
When Sir Lancelot saw the queen’s dead face, he wept not greatly, but sighed. Then he did all the observance of the service himself, both the dirge and the sung Mass. With a hundred torches ever burning about the corpse of the queen, Sir Lancelot and his good fellows went about the horse bier, singing and reading many a holy orison, and sprinkled frankincense upon the corpse. Then they retraced their way from Almesbury to Glastonbury.