Then Mordred sought to kill the Archbishop; but he fled away to Glastonbury in Somerset and there became a hermit at the abbey.
Queen Guinevere’s messenger had reached King Arthur by this time, and swiftly he marched to the sea coast with all his men, and set sail for England. But Mordred was waiting for him at Dover, and a terrible battle had to be fought before he and his men could land. At length, however, they were all ashore; and then they charged the rebels, and sent them flying over the downs, Sir Mordred leading the flight.
When the battle was over King Arthur found Sir Gawain lying mortally wounded, for the last wound which Sir Launcelot had given him had broken out afresh.
‘Alas, my beloved nephew,’ said King Arthur, kneeling beside him, ‘here now you lie dying, the man whom I loved best in all the world. And now all my joy is gone. For you and Launcelot I loved best of all my knights: and I have lost you both.’
‘Ah, my dear lord,’ said Gawain, ‘all this is my doing. Oh, I have been mad of late – mad with wicked pride and anger … If the noble Sir Launcelot had been with you this war would never have come about. I forgive him now – would that I had forgiven him sooner … Can he ever forgive me?’
Then Gawain asked for pen and ink, and he wrote a letter to Sir Launcelot:
‘Oh, Launcelot, flower of all noble knights that ever I saw or heard of, I Gawain, dying by your hand – and by a nobler man might no one be slain – beg your forgiveness … Come again, noble Launcelot, come with all the speed you may, for the realm of Logres is in deadly peril, and our dear lord King Arthur has need of you … This day we landed at Dover and put the false traitor Sir Mordred to flight, and by misfortune I was smitten again upon the wound that you gave me. And now I write this in the very hour of my death. And oh, I beg you, the most famous knight in the world, to come swiftly. Of me you will find only the grave: but come at once before Mordred can gather fresh rebels … Noble Launcelot, I salute you, and – farewell.’
Then Sir Gawain died, and King Arthur wept at his side all the long night through.
3
The Last Battle
King Arthur and his army were encamped upon the Plain of Camlann not many days later, and scarcely a mile away Mordred waited for him with a great gathering of knights and men-at-arms who had thrown in their lot with him, choosing rather his easy and lawless rule than the high service of Arthur the good King of Logres.
After the Battle of Dover, Mordred had fled away defeated; but in a very little while news came that he was marching into the west country, harrying the lands of all those who would not fight for him. Then Arthur marched swiftly towards Cornwall and Lyonesse, and came one night to Camlann near where, so many years before, Merlin the good enchanter had brought him to receive his sword Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake.
That night Arthur could not sleep: for he knew that on the morrow there would be a great battle in which many more of his knights would fall, and he feared that this was the last of all his battles, which Merlin had foretold, when the realm of Logres should pass into the darkness. For already the Saxons, hearing of the strife and civil war, were pouring into Britain from the north and east – for the first time since the battle of Mount Badon twenty-one years before – and now there was no fellowship of the Round Table ready to ride behind King Arthur at a moment’s notice and drive out the barbarians wherever they might chance to land.
Arthur tossed and turned upon his bed in the royal tent until, near morning, he grew still. And then, neither sleeping nor waking, he beheld a strange thing. For suddenly it seemed to him that Sir Gawain, who lay buried in Dover Castle, came to him attended by a train of fair ladies:
‘Welcome, dear nephew,’ King Arthur said, or seemed to say, ‘I thank God that I behold you alive whom I thought was dead. But tell me whence you come, and why attended by these ladies.’
‘My dear lord king, my very dear lord king,’ Sir Gawain answered, or seemed to answer, ‘all these are ladies in whose cause I fought when I was a living man: for ever I fought in righteous quarrels only – and for this cause God has been very merciful to me, and has sent them to bring me hither to warn you of your passing. For if you fight with Sir Mordred this day, both of you will fall, and the most part of your people also. But I come to warn you, by God’s grace, not to fight this day, but to make a truce with Sir Mordred, whatever his terms – a truce for one month. For within a month Launcelot will come with all his noble knights, and you and he together will slay Sir Mordred and overcome all that hold with him.’
Then Sir Gawain and the ladies vanished away, and in a little while King Arthur arose from his bed and called to him Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere. And when he had told them of how Sir Gawain had visited him, and what his counsel had been, he bade them take two priests with them and go to make a month’s truce with Sir Mordred.
‘And spare not,’ added the King, ‘but offer him lands and goods as much as you think reasonable.’
So they came to where Mordred was with his great host of a hundred thousand men, and they treated with him for a long time. And at last he agreed to have Cornwall and Kent to be his at once, and the rest of Britain after King Arthur’s death.
It was arranged that Arthur and Mordred were to meet midway between the two armies, each attended by fourteen men only. Then King Arthur gave orders to his men: ‘If you see any sword drawn, charge fiercely, and slay that traitor Sir Mordred, for I do not trust him.’
And Sir Mordred spoke likewise to his army: ‘If you see any sword drawn, come on and slay them all! I do not trust this treaty, and I am sure that King Arthur is eager to be revenged on me.’
So they met as had been arranged, and the agreement was drawn up and signed by both of them. Then wine was brought, and they drank together. But while this was happening an adder came out of the heather, as evil as the serpent which tempted Eve, and stung one of Mordred’s knights on the heel. When the knight felt himself stung he looked down and saw the adder; and then, without thinking, he drew his sword and killed it.
But when the two armies saw the light flashing on the drawn sword, a great shout arose from either side, and in a minute they were charging at one another across the plain of Camlann.
‘Alas, this unhappy day!’ cried King Arthur. Then he and Mordred leapt each upon their horses and rode into the battle.
Never since that day in any Christian land was there seen a sadder or more dreadful battle. There was rushing and riding and striking; and many a grim wound was given, and many a deadly stroke. And ever King Arthur rode in the heart of the battle doing mighty deeds; and this time Mordred fought well also, and did not think of flight. But every man there fought only to kill: and thus the battle lasted through all that long day, and never ceased until all those noble knights were laid upon the cold earth.
The evening fell, dark and ominous, and the dreadful hush of death spread over the battlefield; and King Arthur wept to see all his people slain. For he looked about him and could see only two of all his knights left alive – Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere – and both of these were sorely wounded.
‘Oh God!’ cried King Arthur, ‘what has become of all my noble knights? Alas that ever I should see this doleful day! But now I know that the end has come … Yet I would that I could find that traitor Sir Mordred, the cause of all this sorrow and destruction.’
Then, as King Arthur looked about him, suddenly he saw Sir Mordred, who stood leaning upon his sword among great heaps of dead men.
‘Now give me my spear,’ said King Arthur to Sir Lucan, ‘for yonder I see the traitor who has brought about all this woe.’
‘Let him be, my lord,’ answered Sir Lucan, ‘for he is accursed. And, moreover, if you can pass this unfortunate day, you shall be right well avenged. And, noble sir, remember your night’s dream and what the spirit of Sir Gawain told you: for God of His great goodness has preserved you through this battle. By His blessing you have won the field – for there are three of us, while Sir Mordred stands alone. If yo
u leave him now this wicked day of destiny is safely past.’
‘Come life or death,’ cried King Arthur, ‘I will do justice upon this man who has brought destruction upon the realm of Logres.’
‘God speed you well,’ said Sir Bedivere.
Then the King took his spear Ron in both his hands and ran towards Sir Mordred shouting:
‘Traitor, now is your death upon you!’
And when Mordred saw King Arthur, he ran at him with drawn sword; but the King smote Sir Mordred under the shield with a feint of his spear and ran him through the body. But when Mordred felt that he had his death-wound, in his hatred and fury he thrust himself forward upon the spear and gripping his sword in both hands smote King Arthur upon the head so hard that it cut through the helmet and deep into the head beneath. Then Sir Mordred fell to the ground and died screaming.
But King Arthur fell without a sound, and Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere came to him and raised him with difficulty between them. And so by gradual stages, for they were both sorely wounded, they carried him to a little deserted chapel not far from the mysterious sea where the mist lay red like blood in the last rays of the setting sun. And then Sir Lucan fell down and died, for the strain of lifting was more than he could stand with a mortal wound already tearing his vitals.
‘Alas,’ said the King, who had recovered from his swoon, ‘this is a heavy sight to see this noble knight die for my sake – for he had more need of help than I had.’
And Sir Bedivere knelt by Sir Lucan and wept, for the two were brothers and had loved each other dearly.
The sun had sunk and now the moon flooded the field of battle with cold white radiance and grim shadows; and the mysterious waters were veiled in long bars of silver mist.
Then King Arthur said to Sir Bedivere:
‘Now leave your weeping and mourning, gentle knight, for it is of no avail – and my time is short. But now, while yet I am with you, you may do me one last service. Take my good sword Excalibur and go up over yonder ridge; and there you will come to a dark lake in the mountain pass; and when you come there I charge you to throw my sword into that water and come back and tell me what you saw.’
‘My lord,’ answered Sir Bedivere, ‘your commandment shall be done, and I will bring you word at once of what I see.’
So Sir Bedivere departed, carrying the sword Excalibur. And as he went he looked at the sword, admired the precious jewels in the handle, and said to himself: ‘If I throw this valuable sword into the water no good will come of it, only harm and loss.’ So, when he came to the dark lake in the mountain pass he hid the sword amongst the rushes and hastened back to King Arthur, saying that he had thrown it into the water.
‘And what saw you there?’ asked King Arthur.
‘Sir,’ answered Sir Bedivere, ‘I saw nothing but the wind stirring the dark waters of the lake.’
‘Then you do not speak the truth,’ said King Arthur. ‘Therefore go quickly and throw the sword far out into the lake!’
So Sir Bedivere returned again and took the sword in his hand; but again he thought what a shame it was to throw away such a noble sword. So he hid it once more and returned to the King.
‘What saw you there?’ asked King Arthur.
‘Sir,’ answered Bedivere, ‘I saw nothing but the dark waters stirred by the moaning wind.’
‘Ah, traitor and liar!’ cried King Arthur, ‘now you have betrayed me twice! Who would think that I had loved you so well, and that you had been so noble a Knight of the Round Table, when now you would betray your king for the value of this sword. Go again swiftly and do my bidding; for this long waiting puts me in danger of my life, and I grow cold in this chill night air.’
Then Sir Bedivere was ashamed, and he ran swiftly over the brow of the hill to the dark lake in the pass of the mountains. He came to the waterside, took the sword in his hands, and flung it as far out from the shore as he could. And as the blade flashed away in the moonlight there came a hand and an arm up out of the dark waters, the arm clothed in shining white samite, mysterious and wonderful, and caught the sword by the hilt. Three times it brandished the sword on high, and then vanished with it beneath the water, and the lake grew dark and still once more.
So Sir Bedivere came back to the King and told him what he had seen.
‘Now help me hence,’ said King Arthur, ‘for I greatly fear that I have tarried here too long.’
Then Sir Bedivere supported the King down the grassy slope, where the dew glimmered like magic diamonds in the moonlight; and they came to the shore of the mysterious sea. And then out of the white mist came a barge as if to meet them; and in it were many fair ladies, all veiled in black. And among them was Nimue, the Lady of the Lake, and the Lady of the Isle of Avalon was there also, and Queen Morgana le Fay, Arthur’s sister. And a sad, low cry rose from them when they saw King Arthur.
‘Now place me in the barge,’ said King Arthur to Sir Bedivere.
And so he did as he was commanded, and the three ladies received him tenderly, and laid him down with his head resting in the lap of the Lady of the Isle of Avalon.
And then Queen Morgana le Fay, who knelt at his feet, wept softly, and said:
‘Ah, my dear brother, why have you tarried so long from us? Alas, the wound in your head has caught over-much cold.’
Then the barge moved slowly out from the land and Sir Bedivere stood alone upon the shore and cried aloud:
‘Ah, my dear lord King Arthur, what shall become of me now that you go and leave me here alone?’
‘Comfort yourself,’ answered King Arthur, ‘and do as best you may. For you remain to bear word of me to those who are yet alive. For I must go into the Vale of Avalon, there to be healed of my grievous wound. But be you sure that I will come again when the land of Britain has need of me, and the realm of Logres shall rise once more out of the darkness. But if you hear never more of me, pray for my soul.’
Then the barge floated away into the mist and was lost to sight. But a strange low cry of mourning came over the waters until the sadness passed from it and it was lost in a quiet whisper beyond the distance.
Author’s Note
The story of King Arthur and the adventures of his knights have been told so very many times that there seems at first sight little excuse for retelling them yet again.
But, setting aside poetical versions of a variety of the legends made by such poets as Dryden, Morris, Tennyson, Swinburne, and Charles Williams, scarcely any writer in English has done more than condense the narrative of Sir Thomas Malory, cutting and simplifying according to the age of his audience, but always following him with more or less exactitude.
Moreover, it has recently been shown that Malory himself did not write his Book of King Arthur as a single narrative, but merely as a collection of quite separate stories, based on a variety of old French romances. There is a certain coherence, but no fixed plan.
So now I have endeavoured to make each adventure a part of one fixed pattern – Arthur’s Kingdom, the Realm of Logres, the model of chivalry and right striving against the barbarism and evil which surrounded and at length engulfed it. This is only the bare foundation however; on it I have endeavoured to rear a fabric consisting of all the best-known adventures, exploits, and quests of the most famous Knights of the Round Table, and a few lesser-known stories which fit into the whole.
I have followed Malory in the main, except for certain isolated stories which he does not include; but I have not felt bound to follow him slavishly – any more than he scrupled to adapt or combine his many French sources.
Starting from the historical Arthur, the Leader or Dux Bellorum whose position in the Britain of the fifth century, when the Roman civilization made its last stand against the Saxons, is described by R. G. Collingwood in his Roman Britain, I have gone on to make use of the pseudo-history of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and the verse chronicle of Layamon. These have given me a few ideas and details for Book One – but in essentials it is almost entirely Malory, exce
pt for the description of Balyn in the Grail Chapel which comes from the French Merlin, and of Nimue’s imprisoning of Merlin from the Middle-English prose romance of Merlin.
In Book Two, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is taken from the famous Middle-English poem of that name; Launcelot’s first quest is from Malory, but the account of his arrival at Camelot (which Malory omits) is from the French prose romance Le Livre de Lancelot del Lac. Sir Gareth, the next story, seems to be Malory’s own invention, and I have followed him, condensing a little, and smoothing out the end. In dealing with Tristram I have deserted Malory and gone back to the earlier version (which he does not seem to have known) of Godfrey of Strasbourg. Geraint and Enid (not included by Malory) is adapted from the Welsh Mabinogion, with a detail or two from the Erec et Enide of Chrétien de Troyes. Sir Gawain and the Lady Ragnell (not in Malory) is based on a Middle-English poem and a ballad, and seems never to have been retold; nor have the early adventures of Percivale, for which I have used another Middle-English poem and many incidents from the French Conte du Graal. Launcelot and Elaine is directly from Malory; and so also is my Book Three, The Quest of the Holy Grail, except for Gawain’s adventures at the Grail Castle which are from the German Diu Crône of Heinrich von dem Türlin, while the final adventures of Percivale are from the German Parzival of Wolfram von Eschenbach. (For synopses of both these poems I am indebted to the Studies on the Legend of the Holy Grail by Alfred Nutt.)
Book Four is directly from Malory, The Last Battle following him almost word for word in one of the finest tragedies in English literature. The death of Launcelot and Sir Hector’s farewell is also Malory; but the account of the finding of the graves at Glastonbury is from a medieval Latin chronicle, and the story of the shepherd and the cavern is elaborated from the folk-tale preserved by Sir Edmund Chambers in his Arthur of Britain, to which book, and to J. D. Bruce’s magnificent work, The Evolution of Arthurian Romance, I am deeply indebted.
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