There now came to Mordred the bishop of Canterbury, who said,—
"Sir, what would you do? Would you displease God and shame knighthood by wedding the wife of your uncle, who has been to you as a father? Cease this vile purpose, I command you, or I shall curse you with book, and bell, and candle, and bring upon your head the vengeance of the church."
"Do your worst, sir priest," said Mordred, angrily. "I defy you."
"I shall do what I ought; be sure of that. You noise about that the lord Arthur is slain, no word of which I believe. You seek with a lie to make mischief in this land. Beware, lest your vile work recoil upon yourself."
"Peace, thou false priest," cried Mordred. "Chafe me no more, or I shall order that thy head be stricken off."
Finding that words were useless, the bishop departed, and, as he had threatened, laid the curse of the church on Mordred. Roused to rage by this, the usurper sought him to slay him, and he fled in all haste to Glastonbury, where he took refuge as a hermit in a chapel. But well he knew that war was at hand, and that the rightful king would soon strike for the throne.
Despite the anathema of the church, Mordred continued his efforts to get Guenever into his power; but she held firmly to the Tower, repelling all his assaults, and declaring openly that she would rather kill herself than marry such a wretch. Soon afterwards he was forced to raise the siege, for word came to him by secret messengers that Arthur had heard of his treason, and was coming home with his whole host to revenge himself on the usurper of his crown.
When Mordred heard this he made strenuous efforts to gather a large army, and many lords joined him with their people, saying that with Arthur there had been nothing but war and strife, but that with Mordred they hoped for peace and a quiet life. Thus was evil said of the good King Arthur when he was away from the land, and that by many who owed to him their honors and estates. Mordred was thus quickly able to draw with a great host to Dover, where he had heard that Arthur would land, for he hoped to defeat and slay him before he could get firm footing on England's soil.
Not long had he been there when a great fleet of ships, galleys, and carracks appeared upon the sea, bearing the king's army back to their native realm. On the beach stood Mordred's host, drawn up to prevent the landing of the king's army. As the boats came to the shore, laden with noble men-of-arms, a fierce struggle ensued, in which many a knight was slain, while full many a bold baron was laid low on both sides. But so courageous was the king, and so fierce the onset of his knights, that the opposing host could not hinder the landing of his army. And when they had gained a footing on the land, they set on Mordred with such fury that he and all his host were driven back and forced to fly, leaving Arthur master of the field.
After the battle, the king ordered that the dead should be buried and the wounded cared for. Among the latter Sir Gawaine was found lying in a great boat, where he had been felled with a deadly wound in the bitter strife. On hearing this direful news, Arthur hastened to him and took him in his arms, with great show of grief and pain.
"In you and in Lancelot I had my highest joy," moaned the king. "Now I have lost you both, and all my earthly happiness is gone."
"My death is at hand," said Gawaine, "and I owe it all to my own hate and bitterness for I am smitten on the old wound that Lancelot gave me, and feel that I must die. Had he but been with you this unhappy war would never have begun. Of all this I am the cause, and have but received my deserts. Therefore I pray you, dear uncle, let me have paper, pen, and ink, that I may write to Sir Lancelot with my own hand."
These were brought him, and Gawaine wrote a moving and tender letter to Lancelot, blaming himself severely for his hardness of heart.
In this wise it ran,—
"Unto Sir Lancelot, flower of all noble knights, I, Sir Gawaine, son of King Lot of Orkney, and sister's son unto the noble King Arthur, send greeting; and also these sad tidings, that on the tenth day of May I was smitten on the old wound which you gave me at Benwick, and thus through this wound have I come to my death. And I would have all the world know that I, Sir Gawaine, Knight of the Round Table, have met with death not through your ill-will, but from my own seeking; therefore I beseech you to come in all haste to this realm, to which you have heretofore done such honor. I earnestly pray you, Sir Lancelot, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, make no tarrying, but come over the sea in all haste, that thou mayest with thy noble knights rescue that royal king who made thee knight, for he is hard bested with a false traitor, my own half-brother, Sir Mordred, who has had himself crowned king, and would have wedded Queen Guenever had she not taken refuge in the Tower of London. We put him to flight on our landing, on the tenth day of May, but he still holds against us with a great host. Therefore, I pray you to come, for I am within two hours of my death; and I beg that you will visit my tomb, and pray some prayer, more or less, for my soul."
When Sir Gawaine had finished this letter he wept bitter tears of sorrow and remorse, and Arthur wept beside him till they both swooned, the one from grief, the other from pain. When they recovered, the king had the rites of the church administered to the dying knight, who then prayed him to send in haste for Lancelot, and to cherish him above all other knights, as his best friend and ally.
Afterwards, at the hour of noon, Gawaine yielded up his spirit. And the king had him interred in Dover castle, where men to this day may see his skull, with the wound thereon that Lancelot gave him in battle.
Word was now brought to King Arthur that Mordred had pitched a new camp on Barham Down. Thither in all haste he led his army, and there a second great battle was fought, with much loss on both sides. But at the end Arthur's party stood best, and Mordred fled, with all his host, to Canterbury.
This second victory changed the feeling of the country, and many people who had held aloof joined the king's army, saying that Mordred was a traitor and usurper. When the dead had been buried and the wounded cared for, Arthur marched with his host to the sea-shore, westward towards Salisbury. Here a challenge passed between him and Mordred, in which they agreed to meet on a down beside Salisbury, on the day after Trinity Sunday, and there fight out their quarrel.
Mordred now made haste to recruit his army, raising many men about London, for the people of that section of the country held largely with him, and particularly those who were friendly to Lancelot. When the time fixed came near, the two armies drew together and camped on Salisbury Down.
And so the days passed till came the night of Trinity Sunday, when the king dreamed a strange dream, for it seemed to him that he sat in a chair that was fastened to a wheel, and was covered with the richest cloth of gold that could be made. But far beneath him he beheld a hideous black pool, in which were all manner of serpents, and vile worms, foul and horrible. Suddenly the wheel seemed to turn, and he fell among the serpents, which seized upon his limbs.
Awakening in fright, he loudly cried, "Help!" and knights and squires came crowding in alarm into his chamber; but he was so amazed that he knew not where he was nor what he said.
Then he fell again into a half slumber, in which Gawaine seemed to come to him attended by a number of fair ladies.
"Fair nephew," asked the king, "who are these ladies?"
"They are those for whom I did battle during my life," answered Gawaine. "God has sent them and me to warn you of your coming death, for if you fight with Mordred to-morrow as you have agreed, you will both be slain, and most of your people. Therefore I am here to warn you not to fight to-morrow, but to treat with the traitor, and make him large and fair promises, so as to gain a month's delay. Within that time Lancelot and his knights will come, and Mordred the usurper cannot hold against you both."
This said, Gawaine and the ladies vanished. Then Arthur waked, and sent messengers in haste to bring his lords and bishops to council. When they had come he told them his dream, and they counselled him by all means to be guided by it. Lucan the butler, and his brother Sir Bevidere, with two bishops, were therefore sent to treat with Mordred, and make him large promises for a month's truce.
The commissioners sought Mordred's camp and held a long conference with him. At the end he agreed to meet King Arthur on the plain between the hosts, each to bring but fourteen persons with him, and there consult on the treaty.
"I am glad that this is accomplished," said the king, when word of the compact was brought him.
But when he was ready to start for the place of conference, with the fourteen chosen men, he said to his knights,—
"Be wary and watchful, for I trust not Mordred. If you see any sword drawn, come fiercely forward, and slay the villain and his guard."
Mordred gave the same warning to his lords, for he had equal mistrust of Arthur, whom he feared and doubted.
The two leaders, with their chosen followers, now advanced and met between the hosts. But by a fatal chance, as the king and his opponent were in consultation, an adder came from a heath bush and stung a knight on the foot. Feeling the wound he drew his sword in thoughtless haste to kill the venomous serpent. But the instant the hosts on both sides saw that sword flash in the air all was uproar and tumult. On both sides trumpets and horns were blown, harness rattled and clanked, and the flash of spear-heads and sword-blades gleamed in the sunlight, while like two mighty waves of war the great hosts broke from their stations and rushed together across the plain.
Then Arthur sprang to his horse, exclaiming, "Alas! this unhappy day!" and rode to his party; and Mordred did likewise.
No hand nor voice could stay the advancing hosts, and in a moment there began the most doleful battle ever seen in Christian land. For there was rushing and riding, foining and striking, and deadly clamor, and fearful strife. Many a grim word was there spoken, and many a deadly stroke dealt. Many times King Arthur rode through Mordred's host, and knightly were the deeds of his hands. And Mordred fought with knightly valor and zeal.
Thus went on the deadly fray all day long, without pause or stint, till noble knights lay like fallen leaves upon the bloody ground. And when nightfall was at hand they still fought with desperate valor, though by that time full a hundred thousand men lay dead upon the down.
Then the heart of Arthur grew full of warlike fury, to see so many of his people slain. And when the sun was near its setting, he leaned upon his crimson sword, and looked about him with eyes that seemed to weep blood. For of all his mighty host of knights but two remained alive, Sir Lucan the butler, and his brother Sir Bevidere; and both of these were sorely wounded.
"God's mercy!" cried the king, "where are all my noble knights? Alas! that I have lived to see this doleful day! Now, indeed, am I come to my end. But would to God I knew where to find that traitor, Mordred, who has caused all this mischief."
As he spoke, his eyes fell on Mordred, who stood leaning upon his sword amid a great heap of slain, for his host had been slaughtered to a man.
"Give me my spear," cried Arthur, wrathfully, to Sir Lucan. "Yonder stands the traitor who has wrought this dire woe."
"Let him be," said Lucan. "He is unhappy enough. Remember, my good lord, your last night's dream, and what the spirit of Sir Gawaine told you. For God's sake make an end of this fray. Blessed be God, we have won the field; for here are three of us alive, while Mordred stands alone among his dead. If you leave off now, the wicked day of destiny will pass and life remain to you. Your time for revenge will come hereafter."
"Betide me life, betide me death," cried the king, "this fray must end here. Now that I see him yonder alone, he shall never escape my hands. One or both of us shall die."
"Then God speed the just cause," said Bevidere.
With no word more Arthur took his spear in both hands, and ran furiously at Mordred, crying,—
"Traitor, now has thy day of death come!"
When Mordred heard him, he raised his dripping sword and ran to meet the king. Thus they met in mid-field, and King Arthur smote Mordred under the shield, the spear piercing his body more than a fathom.
Mordred felt that he had his death-wound, but with a last impulse of fury in his felon soul he thrust himself, with all his strength, up to the bur of King Arthur's spear. Then wielding his sword with both hands, he struck the king so dread a blow on the side of the head that the trenchant blade cut through the helmet and deep into the skull.
With this last and fatal stroke Mordred fell stark dead to the ground. And Arthur sank in a swoon to the earth, where he lay like one dead.
Thus sadly and direfully ended that dreadful war, with which came to a close the flower of the days of chivalry, and the glorious and never-to-be equalled fellowship of the Round Table, with all the mighty deeds of prowess and marvels of adventure that to it belonged. For of those noble knights, except Sir Lancelot and his kindred, only two lived, Sir Lucan the butler, and Sir Bevidere his brother, and of these two Sir Lucan was wounded unto death; and with them the illustrious King Arthur, whose chivalrous soul had so long sustained this noble order of knighthood, lay bleeding piteously upon that direful field of blood.
Sir Lucan and Bevidere, with bitter tears of sorrow, lifted their helpless king between them, and with great labor led him from that place of slaughter till they reached a small chapel near the sea-shore. Here, as the night drew on, the sound of many voices came to them, as if the dead had risen and were astir on the blood-stained field.
"What noise is this, Sir Lucan?" said the king. "Go, gentle friend, and tell me what it means."
Lucan went, and by the moonlight saw a throng of pillagers, who robbed the dead bodies of money and jewels, killing for their riches those knights who were not quite dead. When he brought this news back to Arthur, the king's sad heart came near to breaking.
"Alas! Lancelot," he said, "how have I missed you this day. Alas! that I ever turned against you, for had you been here this fatal end could never have been, nor those noble warriors left to be the prey of the wolves and jackals of the battle-field. Sorely have I erred and sadly have I been repaid for my error. But now, alas, it is too late for regret or amendment, for the fellowship of the Round Table is at an end, and Arthur the king shall reign no more."
CHAPTER VI.
THE PASSING OF ARTHUR.
When morning dawned, after that day of fate, Lucan and Bevidere took up the king between them, and sought to bear him to the sea-shore, as he bade them do. But in the lifting the king swooned, and Lucan fell prostrate, the blood gushing anew from his wound.
Arthur lay long like one dead, and when he came to himself again he saw Lucan lifeless at his feet, with foam upon his lips, and the ground around him deeply stained with his blood.
"Alas! this is a heavy sight to see," he said. "He sought to help me when he stood most in need of help. He would not complain though his heart broke, and has given his life for mine. May Jesus have mercy on his soul."
Bevidere stood beside him, weeping bitterly for the death of his brother.
"Weep and mourn no more," said the king. "It will not now avail. Could I live, the death of Sir Lucan would grieve me evermore. But my time goeth fast, and there is that to do for which but few moments remain."
Then he closed his eyes for a time, like one who sees visions; and when he looked again there was that in his face which Bevidere could not fathom and his eyes were deep with meaning unrevealed.
"Now, my lord Bevidere," said the king, "the end is at hand. Take thou my good sword Excalibur, and go with it to yonder water-side. When thou comest there, I charge thee throw it as far as thou canst into the water; then come again and tell me what thing thou seest."
"Trust me, my lord and king, your command shall be obeyed," said Bevidere.
So he took the sword and departed to the water-side. But as his eyes fell upon the noble weapon, whose pommel and haft were all of precious stones, a feeling of greed came upon him and he said to himself,—
"If I throw this rich sword into the water, no good can come of it, but only harm and loss. Had I not better keep it for myself?"
Moved by this thought, he hid Excalibur under a tree, and returned to the king, whom he told that he had thrown the sword into the water.
"What saw you there?" asked the king.
"Sir, I saw nothing but the rippling waves."
"Then you speak untruly," said the king. "You have not thrown the sword as I bade you. Go again, and obey my command, as you are to me dear and true. Spare not, but throw it in afar."
Bevidere thereupon went again, and took the sword in his hand. But the rich jewels so glittered in the sun that his greed came back more strongly than before, and he deemed it a sin to throw into the sea that noble blade. So he hid the sword again, and returned to the king with his former tale.
"What sawest thou there?" asked the king.
"Sir, I saw nothing but the waves that broke on the beach, and heard only the roar of the surf."
"Ah, traitor! false and untrue art thou!" cried the king. "Thou hast betrayed me twice. Who would have thought that thou, whom I held dear, and who art named a noble knight, would betray his king for the jewels of a sword? Go again, for thy long delay puts me in a great jeopardy of my life. If now you do not as I have bidden, beware of me hereafter, for dead or alive I will have revenge upon you. Would you, Sir Bevidere, for a shining blade, bring death and ruin to your king?"
Then Bevidere, heart-full of shame, hastened away, and took the sword, turning his eyes manfully away from its jewelled hilt. Binding the girdle around it, with all the might of his arm he hurled the blade far out over the waves.
Then came a marvel. For as he followed the sword with his eyes, he saw a hand and arm rise above the waves to meet the blade. The hand caught it by the hilt, and brandished it thrice in the air, and then vanished with it into the water.
Bevidere, much wondering, hurried back to the king, and told him what he had seen.
"Now, Sir Bevidere, you have done as I bade you," said Arthur. "But much precious time have you lost. Help me hence, in God's name, for I fear that I have tarried over-long."
Then Bevidere took the king on his back and bore him to the water-side, and lo! there he saw another strange thing.
For close by the shore lay a little barge, which he had not seen before, and in it sat many fair ladies, among whom were three queens, who wore black hoods, and wept with bitter sorrow when they saw King Arthur.
"Now help me into the barge," said the king.
This Sir Bevidere did as gently as he could. And the three queens received the dying monarch with deep mourning, and had him laid between them, with his head on the lap of her who sat in the centre.
"Alas! dear brother, why have you tarried so long from me?" said this queen. "Much harm I fear from this sad wound."
And so they rowed from the land, while Bevidere stood on the shore sadly watching the barge go from him.
"Ah, my lord Arthur," he cried, "what shall become of me, now that you go from me and leave me here alone among my enemies?"
"Comfort thyself," said the king, "and do what thou mayest, for in me can no man henceforth put his trust. I go into the vale of Avilion, to a happy summer island far over the sea, where I shall be healed of my grievous wound. But when I shall come again no voice may tell. Mayhap I shall never come, but dwell forever in that sunny vale. If you never hear more of me, pray for my soul."
Then again the queens and the ladies wept and moaned, and the barge moved swiftly over the long waves and afar to sea, while Bevidere stood and watched it till it became a black speck on the waters. Then it vanished and was seen no more, and the lonely watcher cast himself upon the beach, weeping like one who has lost all life's happiness.
But when night came near he turned and went wearily away, heavy with the weight of death that lay upon his soul, for he alone remained of yesterday's mighty hosts. All that night he journeyed through a great forest, and in the morning he found himself between two hoary cliffs, with a chapel and a hermitage in the glen that lay between.
In this hermitage he found the holy man who had been archbishop of Canterbury, and who had come hither to escape Mordred's rage. With him Bevidere stayed till he was cured of his wounds, and afterwards he put on poor clothes, and served the hermit full lowly in fasting and prayers.
But as for the three queens who went with Arthur to the island of Avilion, the chronicles say that they were Morgan le Fay his sister, the queen of Northgalis, and the queen of the Waste Lands. And with them was Nimue, the lady of the lake. All were skilled in magic, but whither they bore King Arthur, or where lies the magical isle of Avilion, or if he shall come again, all this no man can say. These are of the secrets that time alone can tell, and we only know that his coming is not yet.
CHAPTER VII.
THE DEATH OF LANCELOT AND GUENEVER.
When word was brought to Lancelot du Lake that Mordred had usurped the throne of England, had besieged Guenever in the Tower of London, and had sought to prevent Arthur from landing at Dover, his soul was moved to wrath and sorrow. And still more was he moved by the letter of Sir Gawaine, with its pitiful self-reproach and earnest wistfulness.
"Is it a time for mourning?" said Sir Bors to Lancelot. "My counsel is that you cross at once to England, visit Gawaine's tomb, as he requests, and then revenge my lord Arthur and my lady Guenever on this base traitor, Mordred."
"It is well advised," said Lancelot. "To England we must go in all haste."
Then ships and galleys were made ready with the greatest despatch, for Lancelot and his host to pass over to England. And in good time he landed at Dover, having with him seven kings and a mighty host of men.
But when he asked the people of Dover the news of the country, his heart was filled with dismay to hear of the great battle on Salisbury Downs, where a hundred thousand men had died in a day, and of the death of Arthur the king.
"Alas!" said Lancelot, "this is the heaviest tidings that ever mortal ears heard. Would that I had been advised in good time. Nothing now remains to do. I have come too late. Fair sirs, I pray you to show me the tomb of Sir Gawaine."
Then they brought him into the castle of Dover, and showed him the tomb. Lancelot fell on his knees before it, and wept, and prayed heartily for the soul of him that lay within. And that night he made a funeral feast, to which all who came had flesh, fish, wine, and ale, and every man and woman was given twelve pence. With his own hand he dealt them money in a mourning gown; and ever he wept, and prayed for the soul of Sir Gawaine.
In the morning, all the priests and clerks of the country round gathered, at his request, and sang a requiem mass before the tomb. And Lancelot offered a hundred pounds, and each of the seven kings forty pounds, and a thousand knights offered one pound each, this going on from morning till night. And Lancelot lay two nights on the tomb in prayer and weeping.
On the third day he called about him the kings, dukes, earls, barons, and knights of his train, and said to them,—
"My fair lords, I thank you all for coming into this country with me; but we have come too late, and that I shall mourn while I live. But since it is so, I shall myself ride and seek my lady Queen Guenever, for men say that she has fled from London, and become a nun, and that she lives in deep penance, and in fasting, prayers, and almsgiving, and is sick almost unto death. Therefore, I pray you, await me here, and if I come not again within fifteen days, then take ship and return to your own country."
"Is it wise for you to ride in this realm?" said Sir Bors. "Few friends will you find here now."
"Be that as it may," said Lancelot, "I shall go on my journey. Keep you still here, for no man nor child shall go with me."
No boot was it to strive with him, and he departed and rode westerly, on a seven or eight days' journey, asking of all people as he went. At last he came to the nunnery where was Queen Guenever, who saw him as she walked in the cloister, and swooned away, so that her ladies had work enough to keep her from falling. When she could speak, she said,—
"Ye marvel why I am so held. Truly, it is for the sight of yonder knight. Bid him come hither, I pray you."
And when Sir Lancelot had come, she said to him with sweet and sad visage,—
"Sir Lancelot, through our love has all this happened, and through it my noble lord has come to his death. As for me, I am in a way to get my soul's health. Therefore, I pray you heartily, for all the love that ever was between us, that you see me no more in the visage; but turn to thy kingdom again, and keep well thy realm from war and wrack. So well have I loved you that my heart will not serve me to see you, for through you and me is the flower of kings and knights destroyed. Therefore, Sir Lancelot, go to thy realm, and take there a wife, and live with her in joy and bliss; and I beseech you heartily to pray to God for me, that I may amend my mis-living."
"Nay, madam, I shall never take a wife," said Lancelot. "Never shall I be false to you; but the same lot you have chosen that shall I choose."
"If you will do so, I pray that you may," said the queen. "Yet I cannot believe but that you will turn to the world again."
"Madam," he earnestly replied, "in the quest of the Sangreal I would have forsaken the world but for the service of your lord. If I had done so then with all my heart, I had passed all the knights on the quest except Galahad, my son. And had I now found you disposed to earthly joys, I would have begged you to come into my realm. But since I find you turned to heavenly hopes, I, too, shall take to penance, and pray while my life lasts, if I can find any hermit, either gray or white, who will receive me. Wherefore, madam, I pray you kiss me, and never more shall my lips touch woman's."
"Nay," said the queen, "that shall I never do. But take you my blessing, and leave me."
Then they parted. But hard of heart would he have been who had not wept to see their grief; for there was lamentation as deep as though they had been wounded with spears. The ladies bore the queen to her chamber, and Lancelot took his horse and rode all that day and all that night in a forest, weeping.
At last he became aware of a hermitage and a chapel that stood between two cliffs, and then he heard a little bell ring to mass, so he rode thither and alighted, and heard mass.
He that sang mass was the archbishop of Canterbury, and with him was Sir Bevidere. After the mass they conversed together, and when Bevidere had told all his lamentable tale, Lancelot's heart almost broke with sorrow. He flung his arms abroad, crying,—
"Alas! who may trust this world?"
Then he kneeled, and prayed the bishop to shrive and absolve him, beseeching that he might accept him as his brother in the faith. To this the bishop gladly consented, and he put a religious habit on Lancelot, who served God there night and day with prayers and fastings.
Meanwhile the army remained at Dover. But Lionel with fifteen lords rode to London to seek Lancelot. There he was assailed by Mordred's friends, and slain with many of his lords. Then Sir Bors bade the kings, with their followers, to return to France. But he, with others of Lancelot's kindred, set out to ride over all England in search of their lost leader.
At length Bors came by chance to the chapel where Lancelot was. As he rode by he heard the sound of a little bell that rang to mass, and thereupon alighted and entered the chapel. But when he saw Lancelot and Bevidere in hermits' clothing his surprise was great, and he prayed for the privilege to put on the same suit. Afterwards other knights joined them, so that there were seven in all.
There they remained in penance for six years, and afterwards Sir Lancelot took the habit of a priest, and for a twelvemonth he sang mass. But at length came a night when he had a vision that bade him to seek Almesbury, where he would find Guenever dead. Thrice that night was the vision repeated, and Lancelot rose before day and told the hermit of what he had dreamed.
"It is from God," said the hermit. "See that you make ready, and disobey not the warning."
So, in the early morn, Lancelot and his fellows set out on foot from Glastonbury to Almesbury, which is little more than thirty miles. But they were two days on the road, for they were weak and feeble with long penance. And when they reached the nunnery they found that Guenever had died but half an hour before.
The ladies told Lancelot that the queen had said,—
"Hither cometh Lancelot as fast as he may to fetch my corpse. But I beseech Almighty God that I may never behold him again with my mortal eyes."
This, said the ladies, was her prayer for two days, till she died. When Lancelot looked upon her dead face he wept not greatly, but sighed. And he said all the service for the dead himself, and in the morning he sang mass.
Then was the corpse placed in a horse-bier, and so taken to Glastonbury with a hundred torches ever burning about it, and Lancelot and his fellows on foot beside it, singing and reading many a holy orison, and burning frankincense about the corpse.
When the chapel had been reached, and services said by the hermit archbishop, the queen's corpse was wrapped in cered cloth of Raines, thirty-fold, and afterwards was put in a web of lead, and then in a coffin of marble.
But when the corpse of her whom he had so long loved was put in the earth, Lancelot swooned with grief, and lay long like one dead, till the hermit came and aroused him, and said,—
"You are to blame for such unmeasured grief. You displease God thereby."
"I trust not," Lancelot replied, "for my sorrow is too deep ever to cease. When I remember how greatly I am to blame for the death of this noble King Arthur and Queen Guenever, my heart sinks within me, and I feel that I shall never know a moment's joy again."
Thereafter he sickened and pined away, for the bishop nor any of his fellows could make him eat nor drink but very little, but day and night he prayed, and wasted away, and ever lay grovelling on the tomb of the queen.
So, within six weeks afterwards, Lancelot fell sick and lay in his bed. Then he sent for the bishop and all his fellows, and said with sad voice: "Sir Bishop, I pray you give me all the rites that belong to a Christian man, for my end is at hand."
"This is but heaviness of your blood," replied the bishop. "You shall be well amended, I hope, through God's grace, by to-morrow morning."
"In heaven, mayhap, but not on earth," said Lancelot. "So give me the rites of the church, and after my death, I beg you to take my body to Joyous Gard, for there I have vowed that I would be buried."
When they had heard this, and saw that he was indeed near his end, there was such weeping and wringing of hands among his fellows that they could hardly help the bishop in the holy offices of the church. But that night, after the midnight hour, as the bishop lay asleep, he fell into such a hearty laugh of joy that they all came to him in haste, and asked him what ailed him.
"Why did you wake me?" he cried. "I was never in my life so happy and merry."
"Wherefore?" asked Sir Bors.
"Truly, here was Sir Lancelot with me, with more angels than I ever saw men together; and I saw the angels bear him to heaven, and the gates of heaven opened to him."
"This is but the vexation of a dream," said Sir Bors. "Lancelot may yet mend."
"Go to his bed," said the hermit, "and you shall find if my dream has meaning."
This they hastened to do, and there lay Lancelot dead, but with a smile on his lips, and the sweetest savor about him they ever had known.
Great was the grief that followed, for never earthly man was mourned as was Lancelot. In the morning, after the bishop had made a requiem mass, he and his fellows put the corpse of the noble knight into the same horse-bier that had borne Guenever, and the queen's corpse with it, and they were taken together to Joyous Gard, with such state and ceremony as befitted those of royal blood.
And there all the services of the church were sung and read, while the face of Lancelot lay open for people to see; for such was then the custom of the land. When the services were over they were buried in one tomb, for so great had been their love during life that all men said they should not be divided in death.
During these events, Sir Constantine, the noble son of Sir Cador of Cornwall, had been chosen king of England in Arthur's place, and a worthy monarch he proved, ruling the realm worshipfully and long.
After Lancelot's death the new king sent for the bishop of Canterbury, and restored him to his archbishopric; but Sir Bevidere remained a hermit at Glastonbury to his life's end.
King Constantine also desired the kindred of Lancelot to remain in his realm; but this they would not do, but returned to their own country. Four of them, Sir Bors, Sir Hector, Sir Blamor, and Sir Bleoberis, went to the Holy Land, where they fought long and stoutly against the Saracens. And there they died upon a Good Friday, for God's sake.
And so ends the book of the life and death of King Arthur and his noble Knights of the Round Table, who were an hundred and fifty when they were all together. Let us pray that God was merciful to them all.
THE END.
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Minor punctuation errors have been corrected as follows;
Pg. 12 - Added missing punctuation "?" (might champion?)
Pg. 188 - Added missing punctuation "." (and he did all.)
Pg. 270 - Added missing endquote ("This I say,")
Pg. 316 - Removed extra enquote (what will you do?)
2. Spelling corrections based upon correct spelling of the word elsewhere in the text:
Pg. 39 - "grevious" to "grievous" (4) (grievous cry that)
Pg. 50 - "you" to "your" ("Knight, hold your hand.")
Pg. 83 - "Dinaden" to "Dinadan" (92) (Gareth and Dinadan also)
Pg. 94 - "seaside" to "sea-side" (8) (castle by the sea-side,)
Pg. 127 - "law" to "lay" (as he lay there asleep)
Pg. 143 - "Badgemagus" to "Bagdemagus" (11) (said Bagdemagus)
Pg. 159 - "Percival" to "Percivale" (94) (Percivale had returned)
Pg. 166 - "dressel" to "dressed" (old man dressed in a)
Pg. 189 - "this" to "his" (to his surprise and joy)
Pg. 202 - "Nacien" to "Nancien" (3) (once by Nancien)
Pg. 220 - "seem" to "seen" (and seen what you highly)
Pg. 238 - "befel" to "befell" (5) (it befell that Nimue)
Pg. 281 - "Turquin" to "Turquine" (2) (by Sir Turquine?)
Pg. 289 - "Tristam's" to "Tristram's" (313) (and Tristram's sake)
Pg. 298 - "wil" to "will" (361) (if you will receive)
Pg. 299 - "dishoner" to "dishonor" (12) (naught to her dishonor.)
3. Words where both versions appear in this text and have been retained.
"threescore" (2) and "three-score"
"King Astlabor" (p. 87) and "King Astlobar" (p. 90)
4. Known English Archaic words used in this text:
"emprise" (prowess/daring)
"guerdon" (reward)
"halidom" (a thing considered holy)
"leman" (sweetheart)
"lief" (dear)
"woful" (3) (now woeful)
"villanous" (6) and villany (3) (now var. of villian* (10))