After Hoel had ended his counsel, Aguisel, King of Scotland, who was

brother to Lot and to Urian, stood on his feet. "Sire," said he, "the

words you have spoken in this hall, where are gathered the flower of

your chivalry, are dear to their ears, for we have listened to the

disdainful messages of Rome. Be assured that each of your peers will

aid you to the utmost of his power. Now is the time and occasion to

show forth the counsel and help we can afford to our king. Not one of

us here who is a subject of your realm, and holds his manors of the

crown, but will do his duty to his liege, as is but just and right. No

tidings I have heard for a great while past sounded so good and fair

as the news that presently we shall have strife with Rome. These

Romans are a people whom I neither love with my heart, nor esteem in

my mind, but hate because they are very orgulous and proud. Upright

folk should avoid their fellowship, for they are an evil and a

covetous race, caring for no other matter but to heap treasure

together, and add to their store. The emperor of this people, by fraud

and deceit, has fastened this quarrel upon us, sending you letters

with an embassy. He deems that Britain is no other than it was, or

he would not demand his measure of tribute, pressed down and running

over. The Roman has raised such a smoke that his fingers will quickly

be scorched in the flame. Moreover, had the Roman kept quiet, even had

he refrained from threats, it becomes our honour, of our own choice,

to enter on this war, to avenge the wrongs of our fathers, and to

abase his pride. The Romans' logic is that they are entitled to

receive tribute at our hands, by reason that their fathers, in their

day, took truage of our ancestors. If this be so, it was no free-will

offering of our fathers, but was wrenched from them by force. So be

it. By force we take again our own, and revenge ourselves for all the

pilling of the past. We are a perilous people, who have proved victors

in divers great battles, and brought many a bitter war to a good end.

But what profit is ours of nil these triumphs, so long as we cry not

'check' to Rome! I desire not drink to my lips when athirst, nor meat

to my mouth when an hungered, as I desire the hour when we hurtle

together in the field. Then hey for the helm laced fast, the lifted

shield, for the brandished sword, and the mighty horse. God! what

spoil and rich ransom will he gain whose body God keeps with His

buckler that day. Never again will he be poor till his life's end.

Cities and castles will be his for the sacking; and mules, sumpters,

and destriers to the heart's desire. On then, comrades, to the

conquest of Rome, and to the parcelling of the Romans' lands. When the

proud city is destroyed, and its wardens slain, there remains yet a

work for us to do. We will pass into Lorraine, and seize the realm. We

will make our pleasaunce of all the strongholds of Germany. So we will

do, till there endures not a land to the remotest sea but is Arthur's

fief, nor one only realm to pluck them from his power. Right or wrong

this is our purpose. That my blow may be heavy as my word, and the

deed accord with the speech, I am ready to go with the king, and ten

thousand riders with me, besides men-at-arms in such plenty that no

man may count them."

When the King of Scotland had spoken, there was much stir and tumult,

all men crying that he would be shamed for ever who did not his utmost

in this quarrel. Arthur and his baronage being of one mind together,

the king wrote certain letters to Rome, and sealed them with his

ring. These messages he committed to the embassy, honouring right

worshipfully those reverend men. "Tell your countrymen," said the

king, "that I am lord of Britain: that I hold France, and will

continue to hold it, and purpose to defend it against the Roman power.

Let them know of a surety that I journey to Rome presently at their

bidding, only it will be not to carry them tribute, but rather to seek

it at their hand." The ambassadors, therefore, took their leave, and

went again to Rome. There they told where and in what fashion they

were welcomed of the king, and reported much concerning him. This

Arthur--said these ancient men--is a lord amongst kings, generous and

brave, lettered and very wise. Not another king could furnish the

riches spent on his state, by reason of the attendance of his

ministers, and the glory of their apparel. It was useless to seek

tribute from Arthur, since in olden days Britain received tribute of

Rome.

Now when the senate had heard the report of the messengers, and

considered the letters wherewith they were charged, they were

persuaded of ambassador and message alike that Arthur neither would do

homage nor pay them the tribute they demanded. The senate, therefore,

took counsel with the emperor, requiring him to summon all the empire

to his aid. They devised that with his host he should pass through the

mountains into Burgundy, and giving battle to King Arthur deprive him

of kingdom and crown. Lucius Tiberius moved very swiftly. He sent

messages to kings, earls, and dukes, bidding them as they loved honour

to meet him on a near day at Rome, in harness for the quest. At the

emperor's commandment came many mighty lords, whose names I find

written in the chronicles of those times. To meet Lucius came

Epistrophius, King of the Greeks, Ession, King of Broeotia, and Itarc,

King of the Turks, a passing strong and perilous knight. With these

were found Pandras, King of Egypt, and Hippolytus, King of Crete.

These were lords of very great worship, a hundred cities owning their

tyranny. Evander drew from Syria, and Teucer from Phrygia; from

Babylon came Micipsa, and from Spain, Aliphatma. From Media came King

Bocus, from Libya, Sertonus, from Bithyma, Polydetes, and from Idumea,

King Xerxes Mustansar, the King of Africa, came from his distant home,

many a long days' journey. With him were black men and Moors, bearing

their king's rich treasure. The senate gave of their number these

patricians: Marcellus and Lucius Catellus, Cocta, Cams, and Metellus.

Many other lords gladly joined themselves to that company, whose

names for all my seeking I have not found. When the host was gathered

together, the count of the footmen was four hundred thousand armed

men, besides one hundred and eighty thousand riders on horses. This

mighty army, meetly ordered and furnished with weapons, set forth on a

day to give Arthur battle from Rome.

Arthur and his baronage departed from the court to make them ready

for battle. The king sent his messengers to and fro about the land,

calling and summoning each by his name, to hasten swiftly with his

power, so that he valued Arthur's love. Not a knight but was bidden to

ride on his allegiance, with all the men and horses that he had. The

lords of the isles, Ireland, Gothland, Iceland, Denmark, Norway and

the Orkneys, promised for their part one hundred and forty thousand

men, armed and clad according to the fashion of their country. Of

these not a horseman but was a cunning rider, not a footman but bore

his accustomed weapon, battle-axe, javelin, or spear Normandy and

Anjou, Auvergne and Poitou, Flanders and Boulogne promised, without

let, eighty thousand sergeants more, each with his armour on his back.

So much it was their right and privilege to do, they said. The twelve

peers of France, who were of the fellowship of Guenn of Chartres,

promised every one to ride at Arthur's need, each man with a hundred

lances. This was their bounden service, said these peers. Hoel of

Brittany promised ten thousand men, Aguisel of Scotland two thousand

more. From Britain, his proper realm, that we now call England, Arthur

numbered forty thousand horsemen in hauberks of steel. As for the

count of the footmen--arbalestriers, archers, and spearmen--it was

beyond all measure, for the number of the host was as the grains of the

sand. When Arthur was certified of the greatness of his power, and

of the harness of his men, he wrote letters to each of his captains,

commanding him that on an appointed day he should come in ships to

Barfleur in Normandy. The lords of his baronage, who had repaired from

the court to their fiefs, hastened to make ready with those whom they

should bring across the sea. In like manner Arthur pushed on with his

business, that nothing should hinder or delay.

Arthur committed the care of his realm, and of Dame Guenevere, his

wife, to his nephew, Mordred, a marvellously hardy knight, whom Arthur

loved passing well. Mordred was a man of high birth, and of many noble

virtues, but he was not true. He had set his heart on Guenevere, his

kinswoman, but such a love brought little honour to the queen. Mordred

had kept this love close, for easy enough it was to hide, since who

would be so bold as to deem that he loved his uncle's dame? The lady

on her side had given her love to a lord of whom much good was spoken,

but Mordred was of her husband's kin! This made the shame more

shameworthy. Ah, God, the deep wrong done in this season by Mordred

and the queen.

Arthur, having put all the governance in Mordred's power, save only

the crown, went his way to Southampton. His meinie was lodged about

the city, whilst his vessels lay within the haven. The harbour was

filled with the ships. They passed to and fro; they remained at

anchorage; they were bound together by cables. The carpenter yet was

busy upon them with his hammer. Here the shipmen raised the mast,

and bent the sail. There they thrust forth bridges to the land, and

charged the stores upon the ship. The knights and the sergeants

entered therein in their order, bearing pikes, and leading the fearful

houses by the rein. You could watch them crying farewell, and waving

their hands, to those remaining on the shore. When the last man had

entered in the last ship the sailors raised the anchors, and worked

the galleys from the haven. Right diligently the mariners laboured,

spreading the sails, and making fast the stays. They pulled stoutly

upon the hoists and ropes, so that the ships ran swiftly out to sea.

Then they made the ropes secure, each in its wonted place. The captain

who was charged with the safety of the ship set his course carefully,

whilst pilot and steersman needfully observed his word. At his bidding

they put the helm to port, to lee, as they might better fill their

sails with the wind. As need arose the shipmen drew upon the cords and

bowlines, or let the canvas fall upon the deck, that the vessel might

be the less beaten of the waves. Thus, loosing and making fast,

letting go and bringing quickly to the deck, hauling and tugging at

the ropes--so they proceeded on their way. When night was come, they

steered their courses by the stars, furling the sails that the wind

should not carry them from their path. Very fearful were the mariners

of the dark, and went as slowly as they were able. Passing bold was

he, that first courteous captain, who builded the first ship, and

committing his body to the wind and waves, set forth to seek a land he

might not see, and to find such haven as men had never known.

Now it came to pass that whilst the host voyaged in great content with

a fair wind towards Barfleur, that Arthur slept, for he was passing

heavy, and it was night. As the king slumbered he beheld a vision,

and, lo, a bear flying high in air towards the east. Right huge and

hideous of body was the bear, and marvellously horrible to see. Also

the king saw a dragon flying over against him towards the west. The

brightness of his eyes was such, that the whole land and sea were

filled with the radiance of his glory. When these two beasts came

together, the dragon fell upon the bear, and the bear defended himself

valiantly against his adversary. But the dragon put his enemy beneath

him, and tumbling him to the earth, crushed him utterly in the dust.

When Arthur had slept for awhile, his spirit came to him again, and he

awoke and remembered his dream. The king called therefore for his wise

clerks, and related to them and his household the vision that he had

seen of the bear and; of the dragon. Then certain of these clerks

expounded to the king his dream, and the interpretation thereof. The

dragon that was beholden of the king signified himself. By the bear

was shown forth a certain horrible giant, come from a far land, whom

he should slay. The giant desired greatly that the adventure should

end in another fashion; nevertheless all would be to the king's

profit. But Arthur replied, "My interpretation of the dream is other

than yours. To me it typifies rather the issue of the war between

myself and the emperor. But let the Creator's will be done."

After these words no more was spoken until the rising of the sun.

Very early in the morning they came to haven at Barfleur in Normandy.

Presently the host issued from the ships, and spread themselves

abroad, to await the coming of those who tarried on the way. Now they

had but dwelled for a little while in the land when tidings were

brought to the king that a marvellously strong giant, newly come

from Spain, had ravished Helen, the niece of his kinsman, Hoel. This

doleful lady the giant had carried to a high place known as St.

Michael's Mount, though in that day there was neither church nor

monastery on the cliff, but all was shut close by the waves of the

sea. There was none in the country so hardy and strong, whether gentle

or simple of birth, that dared to do battle with the giant, or even

to come where he lay. Often enough the folk of the land had gathered

themselves together, and compassed about the rock both by land and

sea, but little had they gained from their labour. For the giant had

beaten their boats amongst the rocks, so that they were slain or

drowned. Therefore they left him to himself, since there was none

to hinder his pleasure. The peasants of the realm were exceeding

sorrowful. Their enemy spoiled their houses, harried their cattle,

bore away their wives and children, and returned to his fastness on

the mount. The villeins lurked in the woods from his wrath. They

perished of misery in secret places, so that the whole land was

barren, because there was none to labour in the fields. This

marvellous giant had to name Dinabuc. Not a soul but prayed that he

might come to an evil end. When Arthur heard these lamentable tidings

he called to him Kay the seneschal and Bedevere his cupbearer, for he

would open his counsel to no other man. He told them his purpose to

depart from the camp that same night privily, taking none with him,

save themselves alone. None but they would know of his errand, for he

rode to the mount to be assured as to whether he or the giant was

the stouter champion. All through the night the three rode together,

sparing not the spur. At daybreak they came upon the ford that leads

across the water to the mount. Looking towards the mount they beheld

a burning fire upon the hill, that might be seen from very far. Over

against the mount was set another hill, near by, and of lesser height,

and upon this hill also a fire of coals. Arthur gazed from hill to

mountain. He doubted where the giant lodged, and in which of these two

high places he should come upon him. There was no man to ask of his

dwelling, nor to tell of his outgoings. Arthur bade Bedevere to go

first to the one and then to the other hill, seeking news of the

giant. When he had found that which he sought, he must return swiftly,

bringing good tidings. Bedevere set forth upon his quest. He entered

into a little boat, and rowed over to that mount which was nearer. He

could cross in no other manner, for the tide was very full, and all

the sand was covered of the sea. Bedevere got him from the boat, and

began to climb the hill. As he climbed he stood still for a space, and

hearkened. From above Bedevere might hear a noise of sore weeping, and

loud lamentation, and doleful sighs. The knight grew cold at the heart

root by reason of his exceeding fear, since he deemed to have come

upon the giant at his play. Presently the courage returned to his

breast, and drawing the sword from its sheath, he advanced stoutly up

the hill. Bedevere considered within himself that it were better for

a knight to die, rather than know himself a coward. He reproached

himself for his tearfulness, and in heart and hope desired only to

bring the adventure to a good end. His wish proved but vain. When

Bedevere won the summit of the mountain, there was no giant, but only

a flaming fire, and close by the fire a new-digged grave. The knight

drew near this fire, with the sword yet naked in his hand. Lying

beside the grave he found an old woman, with rent raiment and

streaming hair, lamenting her wretched case. She bewailed also the

fate of Helen, making great dole and sorrow, with many shrill cries.

When this piteous woman beheld Bedevere upon the mount, "Oh, wretched

man," she exclaimed, "what is thy name, and what misadventure leads

you here! Should the giant find thee in his haunt, this very day thy

life will end in shame and grief and hurt. Flee, poor wretch, upon thy

road, before he spies thee. Be pitiful to thyself, nor seek to die,

for who art thou to deliver thyself from his wrath!" "Good dame," made

reply Sir Bedevere, "give over weeping and answer my words. Tell me

who you are, and why you shed these tears. For what reason do you

abide in this isle, and crouch beside this tomb? Answer me plainly

concerning your adventure." "Fair lord," replied the ancient lady, "I

am a forsaken and a most unhappy woman. I make my lamentation for a

damsel, named Helen, whom I nourished at my breast, the niece of Duke

Hoel of this realm. Here lies her body in this tomb, that was given to

me to cherish. Alas, for her who was set upon my knees! Alas, for her

I cherished in my bosom! A certain devil ravished her away, and me

also, bearing us both to this his lair. The giant would have had to do

with the maiden, but she was so tender of her years that she might not

endure him. Passing young was the maid, whilst he, for his part, was

so gross and weighty of bone and flesh, that her burden was more than

she could bear. For this the soul departed from her body. Alas, wretch

that I am, I remain alive, and she, my joy and my love, my sweetness

and my delight, was foully done to death by this giant. Nothing was

left for me to do, but to put her body in the earth." "For what reason

do you abide in this hill," asked Sir Bedevere, "since Helen is gone

before?" "Will thou learn of the reason," said the ancient damsel,

"then it shall not be hidden; for easy it is to see that thou art a

gentle and a courteous man. When Helen had gone her way in shame and

sorrow, the giant constrained me to abide that I might suffer his

pleasure. This he did, although my heart was hot because I had seen my

lady die in sore anguish. Force keeps me in this haunt, force makes

me his sport. You cannot think that I stay of my own free will on the

mount. I but submit to the will of the Lord. Would to God that I were

dead, as for a little more I should be slain of the giant. But if I am

older of years, I am also stronger, and harder, and more firm in

my purpose, than ever was my frail Lady Helen. Nevertheless I am

well-nigh gone, and have little longer to endure. Perchance even this

very day will be my last. Friend, tarry here no further whomsoever

thou mayst be. Flee while you can, for behold the fire smokes upon the

mountain, and the devil makes him ready to ascend, according to his

custom. Be not snared within his net. Depart, and leave an old woman

to her tears and sorrow; for I have no care to live, since Helen and

her love are spoiled with dust."

When Bedevere heard this adventure he was filled with pity. With his

whole heart he comforted the damsel as gently as he might. He left

her for a season, and hastening down the hill came straightway to the

king. Bedevere showed his lord of all that he had heard and seen. He

told over the tale of that ancient nurse lamenting by a grave; of

Helen who was dead, and of the giant's haunt upon the higher of the

hills which smoked. Arthur was passing heavy at Helen's fate. He

wasted no time in tears, nor suffered himself to be fearful. Arthur

bade his companions get into their harness, and ride with him to the

ford. The tide was now at the ebb, so that they crossed on their

horses, and came speedily to the foot of the hill. There they

dismounted, giving their mantles and destriers to the charge of the

squires. Arthur, Bedevere, and Kay, the three together, began briskly

to climb the mount. After they had climbed for a while Arthur spake to

his fellows: "Comrades, I go before to do battle with the giant. For

your part you must follow a little after. But let neither of you be so

bold as to aid me in my quarrel, so long as I have strength to strive.

Be the buffets what they may, stand you still, unless he beats me to

the ground. It is not seemly that any, save one, should have lot in

this business. Nevertheless so you see me in utmost peril and fear,

come swiftly to my succour, nor let me find death at his hands." Sir

Kay and Sir Bedevere made this covenant with their lord, and the three

knights together set forth again up the hill. Now when Arthur drew

near to the summit of the mount, he beheld the giant crouched above

his fire. He broiled a hog within the flame upon a spit. Part of the

flesh he had eaten already, and part of the meat was charred and

burning in the fire. He was the more hideous to see because his beard

and hair were foul with blood and coal. Arthur trusted to take him

thus unready, before he could get to his mace. But the giant spied his

adversary, and all amarvelled leapt lightly on his feet. He raised the

club above his shoulder, albeit so heavy that no two peasants of the

country could lift it from the ground. Arthur saw the giant afoot, and

the blow about to fall. He gripped his sword, dressing the buckler

high to guard his head. The giant struck with all his strength upon

the shield, so that the mountain rang like an anvil. The stroke was

stark, and Arthur stood mazed at the blow, but he was hardy and

strong, and did not reel. When the king came to himself, and marked

the shield shattered on his arm, he was marvellously wroth. He raised

his sword and struck full at the giant's brow. The blow was shrewd,

and would have brought the combat to an end had not the giant parried

with his mace. Even so, his head was sorely hurt, and the blood ran

down his face, that he might not see. When the giant knew that he was

wounded to his hurt, he became in his rage as a beast possessed. He

turned grimly on his adversary, even as the boar, torn of the hounds

and mangled by the hunting knife, turns on the hunter. Filled with

ire and malice the giant rushed blindly on the king. Heedless of the

sword, he flung his arms about him, and putting forth the full measure

of his might, bore Arthur to his knees. Arthur was ardent and swift

and ready of wit. He remembered his manhood, and struggled upright on

his feet. He was altogether angered, and fearful of what might hap.

Since strength could not help, he called subtlety to his aid. Arthur

made his body stiff like a rod, and held himself close, for he was

passing strong. He feigned to spring on his foe, but turning aside,

slipped quickly from under the giant's arms. When Arthur knew his

person free of these bands, he passed swiftly to and fro, eluding his

enemy's clasp. Now he was here, now there, ofttimes striking with the

sword. The giant ran blindly about, groping with his hands, for his

eyes were full of blood, and he knew not white from black. Sometimes

Arthur was before him, sometimes behind, but never in his grip, till

at the end the king smote him so fiercely with Excalibur that the blade

clove to his brain, and he fell. He cried out in his pain, and the

noise of his fall and of this exceeding bitter cry was as fetters of

iron tormented by the storm.

Arthur stood a little apart, and gazed upon his adversary. He laughed

aloud in his mirth; for his anger was well-nigh gone. He commanded

Bedevere, his cupbearer, to strike off the giant's head, and deliver

it to the squires, that they might bear it to the host, for the

greater marvel. Bedevere did after his lord's behest. He drew his

sword, and divided the head from the shoulders. Wonderfully huge and

hideous to sight was the head of this giant. Never, said Arthur, had

he known such fear; neither had met so perilous a giant, save only

that Riton, who had grieved so many fair kings. This Riton in his day

made war upon divers kings. Of these some were slain in battle, and

others remained captive in his hand. Alive or dead, Riton used them

despitefully; for it was his wont to shave the beards of these

kings, and purfle therewith a cloak of furs that he wore, very rich.

Vainglorious beyond measure was Riton of his broidered cloak. Now by

reason of folly and lightness, Riton sent messages to Arthur, bidding

him shave his beard, and commend it forthwith to the giant, in all

good will. Since Arthur was a mightier lord and a more virtuous prince

than his fellows, Riton made covenant to prefer his beard before

theirs, and hold it in honour as the most silken fringe of his mantle.

Should Arthur refuse to grant Riton the trophy, then nought was there

to do, but that body to body they must fight out their quarrel, in

single combat, alone. He who might slay his adversary, or force him

to own himself vanquished, should have the beard for his guerdon,

together with the mantle of furs, fringes and garniture and all.

Arthur accorded with the giant that this should be so. They met in

battle on a high place, called Mount Aravius, in the far east, and

there the king slew Riton with the sword, spoiling him of that rich

garment of furs, with its border of dead kings' beards. Therefore,

said Arthur, that never since that day had he striven with so perilous

a giant, nor with one of whom he was so sorely frighted. Nevertheless

Dinabuc was bigger and mightier than was Riton, even in the prime of

his youth and strength. For a monster more loathly and horrible, a

giant so hideous and misshapen, was never slain by man, than the devil

Arthur killed to himself that day, in Mont St. Michel, over against

the sea.

After Arthur had slam the monster, and Bedevere had taken his head,

they went their way to the host in great mirth and content. They

reached the camp, and showed the spoil to all who would, for their

hearts were high with that which they had done. Hoel was passing

sorrowful for that fair lady, his niece, making great lamentation for

a while over her who was lost in so fearsome a fashion. In token of

his dolour he budded on the mount a chapel to Our Lady St. Mary, that

men call Helen's Tomb to this very day. Although this fair chapel

was raised above the grave of this piteous lady, and is yet hight

Tombelame, none gives a thought to the damsel after whom it is named.

Nothing more have I to relate concerning this adventure, and would

tell you now of that which happened to the host.

When the men of Ireland, and those others for whom Arthur tarried, had

joined themselves to the host, the king set forth, a day's march every

day, through Normandy. Without pause or rest he and his fellowship

passed across France, tarrying neither at town nor castle, and came

speedily into Burgundy. The king would get to Autun as swiftly as

he might, for the Romans were spoiling the land, and Lucius their

emperor, together with a great company, purposed to enter in the city.

Now when Arthur drew to the ford, leading across the waters of the

Aube, his spies and certain peasants of those parts came near and

warned him privily concerning the emperor, who lay but a little way

thence, so that the king could seek him, if he would. The Romans had

sheltered them in tents, and in lodges of branches. They were as the

sand of the shore for multitude, so that the peasants marvelled that

the earth could bring forth for the footmen and horses. Never might

the king store and garner in that day, for where he reaped with

one, Lucius the emperor would reap with four. Arthur was in no wise

dismayed at their words. He had gone through many and divers perils,

and was a valiant knight, having faith and affiance in God. On a

little hill near this river Aube, Arthur builded earthworks for his

host, making the place exceeding strong. He closed the doors fast,

and put therein a great company of knights and men at arms to hold

it close. In this fortress he set his harness and stores, so that he

could repair thither to his camp in time of need. When all was done

Arthur summoned to his counsel two lords whom he esteemed for fair and

ready speech. These two lords were of high peerage. Guerin of Chartres

was one, and the other was that Boso, Earl of Oxford, right learned

in the law. To these two barons Arthur added Gawain, who had dwelt in

Rome for so long a space. This Arthur did by reason that Gawain was a

good clerk, meetly schooled, and held in much praise and honour by his

friends in Rome. These three lords the king purposed to send as an

embassy to the emperor. They were to bear his message, bidding the

Romans to turn again to their own land, nor seek to enter France,

for it pertained to the king. Should Lucius persist in his purpose,

refusing to return whence he came, then let him give battle on the

earliest day, to determine whether Arthur or he had the better right.

This thing was certain. So long as Arthur had breath he would maintain

his claim to France, despite the Roman power. He had gained it by the

sword, and it was his by right of conquest. In ancient days Rome, in

her turn, held it by the same law. Then let the God of battles decide

whether Britain or Rome had the fairer right to France.

The messengers of the king apparelled themselves richly for their

master's honour. They mounted on their fairest destriers, vested in

hauberks of steel, with laced helmets, and shields hung round their

necks. They took their weapons in their hands, and rode forth from the

camp. Now when certain knights and divers bold and reckless varlets

saw the embassy make ready to seek the emperor, they came to Gawain

and gave him freely of their counsel. These exhorted him that when he

reached the court, to which he fared, he should act in such fashion,

right or wrong, that a war would begin which had threatened overlong.

Yea, to use such speech that if no matter of dispute should be found

at the meeting, there might yet be quarrel enough when they parted.

The embassy accorded, therefore, that they would so do as to constrain

the Romans to give battle. Gawain and his comrades crossed a mountain,

and came through a wood upon a wide plain. At no great distance they

beheld the tents and lodges of the host. When the Romans saw the three

knights issue from the wood, they drew near to look upon their faces

and to inquire of their business. They asked of them concerning whom

they sought, and if for peace they had come within the camp. But the

three knights refused to answer, for good or evil, until they were led

before the lord of Rome. The embassy got from their horses before the

emperor's pavilion. They gave their bridles to the hands of the pages,

but as to their swords concealed them beneath their mantles. The three

knights showed neither salutation nor courtesy when they stood in the

emperor's presence. They rehearsed over Arthur's message, whilst Lucius

hearkened attentively to their words. Each of the ambassadors said

that which pleased him to be said, and told over what he held proper

to be told. The emperor listened to each and all without interruption.

After he had considered at his leisure he purposed to reply. "We come

from Arthur, our lord," said Gawain, "and bear to thee his message. He

is our king, and we are his liegemen, so it becomes us to speak only

the words he has put in our mouth. By us, his ambassadors, he bids you

refrain from setting a foot in France. He forbids you to intermeddle

with the realm, for it is his, and he will defend his right with such

power, that very certainly you may not snatch it from his hand. Arthur

requires you to seek nothing that is his. If, however, you challenge

his claim to France, then battle shall prove his title good, and by

battle you shall be thrown back to your own land. Once upon a time the

Romans conquered this realm by force, and by force they maintained

their right. Let battle decide again whether Rome or Britain has the

power to keep. Come forth to-morrow with thy host, so that it may be

proven whether you or we shall hold France. If you fear this thing,

then go your way in peace, as indeed is best, for what else is there

to do! The game is played, and Rome and you have lost." Lucius the

emperor made answer that he did not purpose to return to his realm.

France was his fief, and he would visit his own. If he might not

pursue his road to-day, why, then to-morrow. But in heart and hope he

deemed himself mighty enough to conquer France, and to take all in his

seisin. Now Quintilian, the nephew of the emperor, was seated by his

side. He took the word suddenly from his uncle's mouth, for he was a

passing proud youth, quick to quarrel, and very bitter in speech. "The

Britons," cried he, "are known to all as a vainglorious people. They

threaten readily, and they boast and brag more readily still. We have

listened to their menaces, but we remember they are of those who boast

the more because they act the less." Quintilian, as I deem, would have

continued with yet other grievous words, but Gawain, who was hot with

anger, drew forth his sword, and springing forward, made the head fly

from his shoulders. He cried to his comrades that they should get to

their horses, and the earls won their way from the pavilion, Gawain

with them, and they with him. Each seized his steed by the bridle,

and climbed nimbly in the saddle. Then they rode forth from the camp,

shield on shoulder, and lance in hand, asking no leave of any.

The patricians within the pavilion sat silent for a space after that

bitter stroke. The emperor was the first to come from his amazement.

"Why sit you here?" cried Lucius; "follow after those men who have set

this shame upon us. Ill fall the day, if they come not to my hand!"

The bravest of his household ran from the tent crying for harness and

horses. From every side arose the shouting, "Swiftly, swiftly; bridle

and spur; gallop, gallop." The whole host was mightily moved together.

They set saddles on destriers, and led the steeds from the stable.

They girt their baldrics about them, and taking their lances, spurred

after the fugitives. The three barons pricked swiftly across the

plain. They looked this way and that; often glancing behind them to

mark how nearly they were followed. The Romans pursued them pell-mell;

some on the beaten road, and others upon the heavy fields. They came

by two, or three, or five, or six, in little clumps of spears. Now a

certain Roman rode in advance of his fellows, by reason of his good

horse, which was right speedy. He followed closely after the Britons,

calling loudly, "Lords, stay awhile. He knows himself guilty who flees

the pursuer." At his word Guerin of Chartres turned him about. He

set his buckler before him, and lowering the lance, hurtled upon his

adversary. Guerin rode but the one course. He smote the Roman so

fiercely, midmost the body, that he fell from his destrier, and died.

Guerin looked on the fallen man. He said, "A good horse is not always

great riches. Better for you had you lain coy in your chamber, than to

have come to so shameful an end." When Boso beheld this adventure of

Guerin, and heard his words, he was filled with desire of such honour.

He turned his horse's head, and seeing before him a knight seeking

advancement, ran upon him with the spear. Boso smote his adversary

in the throat, where the flesh is soft and tender. The Roman fell

straightway to the ground, for his hurt was very grievous. Boso cried

gaily to his stricken foe, "Master Roman, you must needs be fed with

gobbets and dainties. Take now your rest, till your comrades may tend

you. Then give them the message that I leave you in their care." Among

the pursuers spurred a certain patrician named Marcellus, who was come

of a very noble house. This Marcellus was amongst the last to get

in his saddle, but by reason of the strength and swiftness of his

destrier he rode now with the foremost. He had forgotten his lance, in

his haste to follow his fellows. Marcellus strove hotly to overtake

Gawain. He rode furiously with bloody spur and loosened rein. His

horse approached nearly to Gawain's crupper, and the knight was

persuaded that in no wise might he shake off his pursuer. Already

Marcellus had stretched forth his hand, promising Gawain his life if

he would yield as his prisoner. Gawain watched his hunter wanly. When

Marcellus was upon him, Gawain drew his rein sharply, so that the

Roman overran the chace. As he passed, Gawain plucked forth his

sword, and smote Marcellus terribly on the helmet. No coif could

have hindered the stroke, for it divided the head down to the very

shoulders. Marcellus tumbled from his horse and went to his place.

Then said Gawain, of his courtesy, "Marcellus, when you greet

Quintilian deep in hell, tell him, I pray, that you have found the

Britons as bold as their boast. Tell him that they plead the law with

blows, and bite more fiercely than they bark." Gawain called upon his

companions, Guerin and Boso, by their names, to turn them about, and

enter the lists with their pursuers. The two knights did cheerfully

after his counsel, so that three Romans were shocked from their

saddles. Then the messengers rode swiftly on their way, whilst the

Romans followed after, seeking in all things to do them a mischief.

They thrust at the Britons with lances, they struck mightily with

the sword, yet never might wound nor hurt, neither bring them to the

earth, nor make them their captives. There was a certain Roman, a

kinsman of Marcellus, who bestrode a horse that was right speedy. This

Roman was very dolent, because of his cousin's death, for he had seen

his body lying in the dust. He spurred his steed across the plain, and

gaining upon the three knights, made ready to avenge his kinsman's

blood. Gawain watched him ride, with lifted sword, as one who deemed

to smite the shield. When Gawain perceived his purpose, he dropped the

lance, for he had no need of a spear. He drew his sword, and as the

Roman, with brand raised high above his head, prepared to strike,

Gawain smote swiftly at the lifted limb. Arm and sword alike flew far

off in the field, the fist yet clasped about the hilt. Gawain dressed

his glaive again. He would have bestowed yet another buffet, but the

Romans hastened to the succour of their fellow, and he dared not stay.

In this fashion the huntsmen followed after the quarry, till the chase

drew near a wood, close by the entrance to that fortress Arthur had

newly built.

Now Arthur had appointed six thousand horsemen of his host to follow

after his messengers. He commanded these horsemen to go by hill and

valley to guard against surprise. They were to watch diligently for

the ambassadors, affording them succour, so they were beset. This

great company of spears was hidden in the wood. They sat upon their

horses, helmet on head, and lance in hand, scanning the road for the

return of Arthur's embassy. Presently they were aware of many armed

men riding swiftly across the plain, and in their midst three knights,

in harness, fleeing for their lives. When the Britons marked the

quarry, and were assured of the hunters, they cried out with one

voice, and burst from their ambush. The Romans dared not abide their

coming, but scattered on the plain. The Britons rode hardly upon them,

doing them all the mischief they might, for they were passing wroth to

see their comrades handselled so despitefully. Many a Roman had reason

to rue his hunting, for some were seized and made captive, others were

sorely wounded, and divers slain. There was a certain rich baron named

Peredur. Amongst the captains of Rome not one was counted his peer.

This captain had ten thousand armed men in his bailly, who marched at

his bidding. Tidings were carried to Peredur of the snare the Britons

had limed. Peredur moved promptly. He hastened with ten thousand

shields to the plain, and by sheer force and numbers bore the Britons

back to the wood, for they were not mighty enough to contend against

him in the field. The Britons held the wood strongly, and defended it

right manfully. Peredur might not take it for all his cunning, and

lost there largely of his company. The Britons lured the Romans within

the covert, and slew them in the glooms. So hot and so perilous was

the melley, fought between the valley and the wood.

Arthur took thought to the tarrying of his messengers, and remembered

that those came not again whom he sent to their aid. The king summoned

Yder, the son of Nut, to his counsel. He committed to his charge seven

thousand horses and riders, and despatched them after the others,

bidding him seek until he found. Yder drew to the plain. Gawain and

Boso yet strove like champions, and for the rest there was not one but

did what he could. From afar Yder heard the cry and the tumult as the

hosts contended together. When the Britons beheld Yder's company,

they were refreshed mightily in heart and hope. They assailed their

adversaries so fiercely that they won back the ground which was lost.

Yder led his horsemen like a brave knight and a cunning captain.

He charged so vigorously with his company, that many a saddle was

emptied, many a good horse taken, and many a rider shocked. Peredur

sustained the battle stoutly, and wheeling about, returned to the

field. He was a crafty captain, knowing well the hour to charge and to

wheel, to press hard on the fugitive, or to wait. Many a fair charge

did he lead that day. He who was valiant, found Peredur yet more bold.

Whoso was minded to tourney, found Peredur yet more willing to break

a spear. His bailly smote more terribly with the sword than ever they

were stricken, so that three hundred horsemen and over lay dead upon

the field. When the Britons marked the deeds of Peredur they could not

be contained. They broke from their ranks and companies, and ran

upon the foe. They were desirous beyond measure to joust with their

adversaries, and to show forth their prowess. Above all things they

were covetous of honour, so that for chivalry they brought the battle

to confusion. So only they strove hand to hand with the Romans, they

gave no thought to the end. Peredur wished nothing better. He held his

bailly closely together, pushing home and drawing off according to

need. Many a time he charged amongst the Britons, and many a time

he returned, bringing his wounded from their midst. Boso of Oxford

regarded the battle. He saw his dead upon the ground. He marked the

craft with which Peredur--that great captain--sustained the Romans,

and knew well that all was lost, save that Peredur were slain. How

might the courage of a rash and foolish company prevail against the

discipline of the Roman host! Boso called about him the best and

bravest of his captains. "Lords," he said, "give me your counsel. You,

in whom Arthur put his trust, have entered on this battle without any

commandment of our lord. If well befalls, all will be well; if ill,

he will require his sergeants at our hands. Should we be vile and

niddering enough to gain no honour on the field, very surely we shall

receive yet more shame as our portion when we come into his presence.

Our one hope is to fight against none, great or small, save only with

Peredur. Alive or dead he must be made captive, and delivered into

Arthur's power. Until Peredur be taken we shall never draw off in

honour from the stour, but must suffer yet greater loss than before.

If then you would make him prisoner, follow after where I will lead,

and do that thing which you shall see me do." The captains, therefore,

plighted faith to follow his ensample, and in no wise to depart from

his command.

Boso brought together as many horsemen as he might, and ranged them

in order of battle. He sent out spies to bring him tidings where that

Peredur should be met, who led the Romans so craftily. The spies

departed on their perilous errand, and returning presently, proclaimed

that Peredur rode with the host in that place where the press was

thickest, and the battle drew never to an end, Boso rode with his

company straight to the heart of the stour. He hurtled upon the

Romans, and looking on Peredur, fought his way to his side. When their

horses stood together, Boso flung his arms about his adversary, and

dragged him amongst the Britons. Then of his will he hurled himself

to the ground, and with him tumbled Sir Peredur. A very marvellous

adventure was it to behold Boso fall from his destrier in the hottest

of the battle, clasping Peredur closely in his arms. The two champions

strove mightily, but Boso was above, and for nothing would unloose his

hold. The bailly of Peredur hastened fiercely to the rescue of their

captain. Those whose lances were still unbroken charged till the

staves were splintered; when their lances failed them at need, they

laid on with their swords, working havoc amongst the Britons. At any

price the Romans would rescue their captain, and the Britons were

in the same mind to succour Boso in his jeopardy. Never might heart

desire to see battle arrayed more proudly. Never was there a fairer

strife of swords, never a more courteous contention of valiant men.

Plume and helmet were abased to the dust, shields were cloven, the

hauberk rent asunder, ash staves knapped like reeds, girths were

broken, saddles voided, and strong men thrown, and brave men wounded

to the death. The thunder of the shouting filled the field. The

Britons cried as Arthur had taught them, and the Romans answered with

the name of Rome. The one party did all that valiant men were able

to guard their captive in their midst, and the other to pluck their

captain from amongst them. So confused was the contention, so

disordered the combat, that men as they strove together hardly knew

Roman from Briton, friend from foe, save only by the cry they shouted,

and by the tongue they spoke in the stour. Gawain flung himself in the

press, hewing a path towards Boso, with mighty strokes of the sword.

With point and edge, thrust and cut, he beat down many, and put divers

to flight. Not a Roman of them all could prevail against him, nor, so

he might, would strive to hinder him in his road. From another side

of the field Yder set his face to the same end. A woodman was he,

clearing a bloody path amongst the trees. Guerin of Chartres aided him

like a loyal comrade, each covering his fellow with the shield. The

three champions drew before Peredur and Boso, and dragged them to

their feet. They brought a steed to Boso, and gave a sword to his

hand. As for Peredur, the crafty captain who had done them so many and

such great mischiefs, they held him strongly. They carried him from

the press to their own lines for the greater surety. There they left

him, bound, under the charge of trusty warders, and straightway

returned to the battle. Now the Romans had lost their captain. They

were as a ship upon the waters, without a rudder, that drifts here and

there, having neither aim nor direction, at the bidding of the winds

and waves. Such was the plight of the bailly which was spoiled of its

captain, for an army without a constable is less an army than a flock

of sheep. The Britons dealt mercilessly with their beaten foe. They

pressed hardly upon the Romans, smiting down and slaying many. They

made captives of the fallen, stripping them of wealth and armour, and

pursued hotly after the fugitives. These they bound with cords, and

came again in triumph to their companions in the wood, together with

their prisoners. The Britons carried Peredur, the wise captain, to the

camp, and bestowed him upon Arthur, their lord. They rendered also to

his hand divers other prisoners of less value than he. Arthur thanked

them for their gift. He promised to recompense each for his goodwill,

when he returned a victor to his realm. Arthur set his captives fast

in prison, whence they could in nowise break out. Afterwards he took

counsel with his barons to convey the prisoners to Paris, and guard

them close in his castle, until the king's pleasure concerning them

was known. He feared to keep them with the host, lest--watch as he

would--they should escape from his ward. Arthur made ready a strong

company to bring them to Paris, and set governors over them. He gave

Peredur and his fellows into the charge of four earls of high lineage,

namely, Cador, Borel, Richier, and Bedevere his butler. These barons

rose very early in the morning, and brought the Romans from their

prison. Like careful warders they put the captives in their midst, and

set out on their journey, riding right warily.

Now Lucius, the emperor, had learned from his spies that the earls

purposed to start at daybreak on their road to Paris. Lucius prepared

ten thousand riders on horses. He bade them travel the whole night

through, outstripping the Britons, and devise such ambush as would

rescue their comrades from these barons. He committed this company to

Sertorius, lord of Libya, and Evander, the King of Syria. With these

princes were Caritius and Catellus Vulteius, patricians of Rome. Each

of these lords was a wealthy man of his lands, and a skilful captain

in war. Lucius had chosen them from all their fellows, and laid his

charge straitly upon them, to succour their comrades in their need.

These were the lords of the host. The ten thousand horsemen in mail

set out at nightfall on their errand. Certain peasants of the land

went with them, to guide them by the surest way. They travelled

throughout the night, sparing not the spur, till they came forth on

the Paris road. There they searched out a likely place where they

might hide them in ambush, and held themselves close and coy until

it was day. Very early in the morning the prickers of the host sent

tidings that the Britons were near at hand. Arthur's men rode in all

surety, deeming they had nought to fear. They were ordered in two

companies. Cador and Borel led the first company, and were the

vanguard of the host. A little space after came Richier, the earl, and

Bedevere, the king's cupbearer. These had Peredur and his fellows in

their care. Six hundred horsemen in harness followed at the earls'

backs, having the captives in their midst. They had tied their wrists

behind them, and fastened their feet with ropes under the bellies of

the horses. So they pricked, all unwitting, into the snare the Romans

had spread. When Cador and Borel were in the net, the Romans sallied

forth from their hiding. The hard ground trembled beneath the thunder

of the destriers' hoofs. They charged home fiercely amongst their

adversaries, but for all their amazement the Britons sustained the

shock like men. Bedevere and Richier gave ear to the tumult, and the

noise of the shouting. Their first thought was to the prisoners. These

they set in a sure place, giving them to the charge of their squires,

and commanding that they should be guarded strictly. Then they

hastened amain to the breaking of spears. The adversaries clashed

together with all their strength. The Romans drifted here and there,

in little clumps of lances, for their mind was less to discomfit the

Britons than to release the captives from their bonds. For their

part the Britons kept their order, and fared boldly among the enemy.

Passing heavy were the Romans because of the prisoners they might not

find. Very grievous was the count of their horsemen who perished in

the search. Now the captains divided the Britons by companies into

four strong columns of battle Cador of Cornwall commanded the folk of

his earldom; Bedevere the Frenchmen of Beauce, Borel had with him the

levies of Le Mans, and to Richier was committed a company drawn from

the men of his household. King Evander perceived the loss and the

peril caused to his host by reason of their divided mind Since the

captives could not be met with, he checked the hastiness of his

meinie. He drew back his horsemen, and ranged them in order. Then he

returned to the battle. It befell, therefore, that the Romans bore

away the prize, and had the better of their adversaries. They wrought

much damage to the Britons, making many prisoners. They slew, moreover,

four of the mightiest and most valiant lords of their enemies At that

time perished Yder, a faithful knight, courageous and passing strong.

Hirelgas of Peritum died, too, this day, there was no hardier knight

than he. Ahduc of Tintagel also, for whom his kin made wondrous

sorrow. Besides these was slain Sir Amaury of the Islands, but whether

he was Welsh or Briton I do not know. Earl Borel of Le Mans, a rich

lord, and a right honoured and puissant prince amongst his own, did

well and worshipfully. He checked the Romans boldly, slaying of them

more than one hundred men. Evander hastened against him. He thrust his

lance head through Borel's throat, so that the point came out at his

neck. Borel fell from his horse, for he was sped. The Britons were

dismayed beyond measure. They fled before their adversaries, since

many were killed, and where one Briton stood, ten Romans opposed

themselves over against him. Doubtless they had been utterly

discomfited, and the captives wrested from their hand, had not Guitard

of Poitiers drawn to their succour. Earl Guitard, that day, was warden

of the marches. He learned from his prickers tidings that a company

of Romans was despatched to rescue the captives. Guitard saddled his

destrier. He took with him three thousand horsemen, without counting

the spearmen and archers, and rode swiftly in aid. As they drew near

to the battle they heard the shouts of the Romans in praise of their

victory. Guitard and his company rode into the press with lowered

lances and scarlet spurs. A hundred horsemen and more were hurled from

their steeds in that shock, never to climb in the saddle again. The

Romans were altogether fearful and esmayed, making complaint of their

pitiful plight. They deemed that Arthur himself had fallen upon them

with all his meinie at his back. Their hearts turned to water, by reason

of the number of their dead. The levies of Poitou closed about them,

and the Britons failed not at need Each company strove to outvie its

fellow, contending earnestly for the greater glory. The Romans could do

no more. They turned about and fled the field, utterly discomfited and

abased. Their one thought was to get to shelter, or else they were all

dead men. The Britons pressed hardly on the fugitives, slaying many.

In the flight King Evander and Catellus were taken, and of their

fellowship six hundred and more were destroyed. Of these divers were

slain, and others made captive. The Britons took spoil of prisoners

according to their desire, and retained of these as they might. Then

they returned by the road, to the place where the combat was won. The

Britons went about the field searching amongst the dead for Borel, the

stout Earl of Le Mans. They found him among the fallen, bebled with

blood, and gashed with many a grisly wound. Afterwards they carried the

hurt to the surgeons, and the dead they laid in their graves. As for

Peredur and his companions they committed them afresh to those whom

Arthur had charged with their keeping, and sent them on their way to

Paris. The rest of the prisoners they bound straitly, and carrying them

before Arthur, delivered them to his hand. They rehearsed to the king

the tale of this adventure, and not a man of them all but pledged

his word that so the Romans made offer of battle, without doubt they

should be utterly destroyed.

The tidings of this heavy discomfiture were brought to the emperor

Lucius learned of the capture of Evander, and of the others who

were slain. He saw his men had no more spirit in them, and that the

beginning of the war went very ill. Lucius considered the failure of

his hopes, that in nothing was he conqueror. He was passing heavy,

being altogether cast down and dismayed. He thought and thought and

feared. He knew not whether to give Arthur battle without delay, or to

await the coming of the rearward of his host. He doubted sorely that

which he should do, for wondrously affrighted was he of this battle,

by reason of the losses he had known. Lucius took counsel with his

captains, and devised to bring his company to Autun, passing by way

of Langres. He set forth with the host, and moving towards Langres,

entered the city when the day was far spent. Now Langres is builded

on the summit of a mount, and the plain lies all about the city. So

Lucius and part of his people lodged within the town, and for the rest

they sought shelter in the valley. Arthur knew well where the emperor

would draw, and of his aim and purpose. He was persuaded that the

Roman would not fight till the last man was with him. He cared neither

to tarry in the city, nor to pacify the realm. Arthur sounded his

trumpets, and bade his men to their harness. As speedily as he might

he marched out from camp. He left Langres on the left hand, and passed

beyond it bearing to the right. He had in mind to outstrip the emperor,

and seize the road to Autun. All the night through, without halt or

stay, Arthur fared by wood and plain, till he came to the valley of

Soissons. There Arthur armed his host, and made him ready for battle.

The highway from Autun to Langres led through this valley, and Arthur

would welcome the Romans immediately they were come. The king put the

gear and the camp followers from the host. He set them on a hill near

by, arrayed in such fashion as to seem men-at-arms. He deemed that the

Romans would be the more fearful, when they marked this multitude of

spears. Arthur took six thousand six hundred and sixty six men, and

ranged them by troops in a strong company. This company he hid

within a wood upon a high place. Mordup, Earl of Gloucester, was the

constable of the meinie. "Your part in the battle," said Arthur, "is

to be still. Let nothing induce you to break from your post should

evil befall, and the battle roll back to the wood, charge boldly on

your adversaries, that you comrades may find rest if it chance that

the Romans turn their backs in the battle, then hurtle upon them

without delay, sparing none in the flight". So these answered,

promising to do after his word Arthur straightway ordered another

legion. It Was formed of mighty men, chosen from amongst his vassals,

with laced helmets, riding on their destriers. This fair company he

arrayed in open ground, and it owned no other captain save the king.

With this legion rode those of his privy household, whom he had

cherished and nourished at his own table. In their midst was guarded

the royal Dragon, that was the king's own gonfalon. From the rest

of his host the king made six companies, each company having ten

captains. Half of these companies were horsemen, and the others went

on foot. On each and all Arthur laid prayer and commandment, that

rider and sergeant alike should bear them as men, and contend

earnestly against the Romans. Not one of these legions but was numbered

of five thousand five hundred and fifty-five horsemen, chosen

soldiers, mighty men of valour, and mightily armed for war. Of the

eight legions, four companies were set over against their enemy,

supported by four behind. Every man was armed and clad according to

the custom of his land. Aguisel of Scotland had the forefront of the

first legion in his keeping, Cador of Cornwall being charged with the

rear. Boso and Earl Guerin of Chartres were the constables of another

company. The third company, formed of outland folk, and armed in

divers manners, was delivered to Echil, King of the Danes, and to Lot,

the King of Norway. The fourth had Hoel for constable, and with him

Gawain, who, certes, was no faintheart. Behind these four legions were

arrayed and ordered yet four other companies. Of one, Kay the sewer

and Bedevere the cupbearer were the captains. With Kay were the men

of Chinon and the Angevins; whilst under Bedevere were the levies of

Paris and of Beauce. To Holdin of Flanders and Guitard the Poitivin

were committed another company--right glad were they of their trust.

Earls Jugein of Leicester and Jonathan of Dorchester were lords and

constables of the seventh legion. Earl Curfalain of Chester and Earl

Urgain of Bath held the eighth legion as their bailly; for these

were lords by whom Arthur set great store. As for the spearmen, the

archers, and the stout arbalestriers Arthur separated them from the

press. He divided them into two portions--one for either wing of his

army. All these were about the king's person, and embattled near his

body.

When Arthur had arrayed his legions, and set his battle in order,

hearken now that which he spake to his lords, his household, and his

vassals "Lords," said Arthur, "I take wondrous comfort when I

remember your manhood and virtues, seeing you always so valiant and

praiseworthy. In the past you have accomplished great things, but day

by day your prowess grows to the full, abating the pride of all who

set themselves against you. When I call to mind and consider that

Britain, in our day, is the lady of so many and so far lands by reason

of you and your fellows, I rejoice mightily, mightily I boast thereof,

and in my God and you right humbly do I put my trust. God grant that

you may do more marvellous works than ever you have wrought, and that

your orb has not yet reached its round. Lords, your valiance and

manhood have conquered these Romans twice already. My heart divines

the decree of fate that you will overthrow them once again. Three

times then have we discomfited these Romans. You have smitten down the

Danes; you have abated Norway, and vanquished the French. France we

hold as our fief in the teeth of the Roman power. Right easily should

you deal with the varlet, who have overborne so many and such perilous

knights. The Romans desire to make Britain their province, to grow fat

with our tribute, and to bring France once more to their allegiance

For this cause they have ransacked the east, and carried hither these

strange, outland people, who amaze Christendom, to fight in their

quarrel. Be not fearful of their numbers. Ten christened men are worth

a hundred of such paynims. The battle will be less a battle, than

a tournament of dames. Have therefore good trust in God, and be

confident of the issue. We shall deal with them lightly, so only we

show a little courage. Well I am assured what each of you will do this

day, and how he will bear him in the melley. For my part I shall be

in the four quarters of the field, and with every one of my legions.

Where the press is thickest, where the need most dire, my Dragon shall

raise his crest"

When the proud words were ended which Arthur rehearsed in the ears of

his people, the host made answer with one loud voice. Not a man of

them all, who hearkened to his speech, but replied that he loved

better to be stark upon the field, than to know himself vanquished at

the end. The whole host was mightily moved together. They defied the

foe, they promised with oaths to bear them like men, and there were

those who wept. Such tears were not shed by reason of fearfulness. It

was the weeping of men who were utterly purposed never to fail their

king.

Now Lucius, the emperor, was born in Spain, of a valiant and noble

stock. He was in the most comely flower of his age, having more than

thirty years, but less than forty. He was a proven knight, of high

courage, who had done great deeds already. For such feats of arms the

Roman senate had chosen him to be their emperor. Lucius rose early in

the morning, purposing to set forth from Langres to Autun His host

was now a great way upon the road, when tidings were brought of the

stratagem Arthur had practised against him. The emperor knew well that

either he must fight or retreat. Go back he would not, lest any deemed

him fearful. Moreover, should the Britons follow after, their triumph

was assured, for how may soldiers bear them with a stout heart, who

flee already from the field! Lucius called about him his kings, his

princes, and his dukes. He drew together his wisest counsellors, and

the most crafty captains of his host. To these he spake, and to the

bravest of his legions, numbering one hundred thousand men and more

besides. "Hearken, gentle lords," cried Lucius, "give ear, ye liege

men, fair conquerors, honest sons of worthy sires, who bequeathed you

so goodly an inheritance. By reason of your fathers' glorious deeds,

Rome became the empery of the world. That she will remain whilst one

only Roman breathes. Great as is the glory of your fathers who subdued

this empire, so great will be the shame of their sons in whose day

it is destroyed. But a valiant father begets a valiant son. Your

ancestors were gentle knights, and you do them no wrong. Not one of

you but comes of hardy stock, and the sap rises in your blood like

wine. Let every man strive valiantly this day to be what his father

was in his. Remember the grief that will be his lot who loses his

heritage, and whose cowardice gives to another what he holds of his

father's courage. But I know, and am persuaded, that you will maintain

your portions. Bold as were the dead, so bold are the living, and I

speak to knights who are mighty men of valour. Lords, the road is shut

which would lead us to Autun. We cannot wend our way till we have

forced the gate. I know not what silent thief, or picker, or sturdy

knave, has closed the road by which we fared. He deems that I shall

flee, and abandon the realm like a dropped pouch. He is wrong. If

I went back it was but to lure him on. Now that he has arrayed his

battle against you, brace your harness and loosen your swords. If the

Briton awaits us, he shall not be disappointed of his hope. Should he

flee he shall find us on his track. The time is come to put bit and

bridle in the jaws of this perilous beast, and to hinder him from

further mischief."

The Romans hastened to get to their arms, for they were passing eager

to fight. They arrayed and embattled the host, setting the sergeants

in rank and company, and forming the columns in due order. The Romans

were a mingled fellowship. Divers outland kings, and many paynim and

Saracens, were mixed with the Christian folk, for all these people

owned fealty to Rome, and were in the service of the emperor. By

thirties and forties, by fifties, by sixties, by hundreds and by

legions, the captains apparelled the battle. In troops and in

thousands the horsemen pricked to their appointed place. Multitudes

of spearmen, multitudes of riders, were ranged in close order, and

by hill and valley were despatched against Arthur's host. One mighty

company, owning fealty to Rome and employed in the service of the

emperor, descended within the valley. Another great company assaulted

the Britons where they lay. Thereat broke forth a loud shrilling of

clarions and sounding of trumpets, whilst the hosts drew together. As

they approached, the archers shot so deftly, the spearmen launched

their darts so briskly, that not a man dared to blink his eye or to

show his face. The arrows flew like hail, and very quickly the melley

became yet more contentious. There where the battle was set you might

mark the lowered lance, the rent and pierced buckler. The ash staves

knapped with a shriek, and flew in splinters about the field. When the

spear was broken they turned to the sword, and plucked the brand from

its sheath. Right marvellous was the melley, and wondrously hideous

and grim. Never did men hew more mightily with the glaive. Not a man

who failed at need; not a man of them all who flinched in the press;

not one who took thought for his life. The sword smote upon the

buckler as on an anvil. The earth shuddered beneath the weight of the

fighting men, and the valley rang and clanged like a smithy with the

tumult. Here a host rushed furiously against a legion which met it

with unbroken front. There a great company of horsemen crashed with

spears upon a company as valiant as itself. Horse and rider went down

before the adversary, arrows flew and darts were hurled; lances were

splintered and the sword shattered upon the covering shield. The

strong prevailed against the weak, and the living brought sorrow to

the dead. Horses ran madly about the field, with voided saddles,

broken girths, and streaming mane. The wounded pitied their grievous

hurts, choosing death before life; but the prayer of their anguish was

lost in the tumult and the cries. Thus for a great while the two hosts

contended mightily together, doing marvellous damage, one to the

other. Neither Roman nor Briton could gain ground, so that no man knew

who would triumph in the end. Bedevere and Kay considered the battle.

They saw that the Romans held themselves closely. They were filled

with anger at the malice of the Romans, and led their company to that

place where the press was the most perilous. Ah, God, but Arthur had

men for his seneschal and cupbearer. Knights of a truth were these

who sat at his table. Kay and Bedevere smote like paladins with their

brands of steel. Many fair deeds had they done, but none so fair as

they did that day. They divided the forefront of the battle, and

cleaving a passage with the sword, opened a road for their fellows.

The Britons followed after, taking and rendering many strokes, so

that divers were wounded and many slain. Blood ran in that place like

water, and the dead they lay in heaps. Bedevere adventured deeper into

the melley, giving himself neither pause nor rest. Kay came but a

stride behind, beating down and laying low, that it was marvellous to

see. The two companions halted for a breathing space, turning them

about to encourage their men. Great was the praise and worship they

had won, but they were yet desirous of honour. They were over anxious

for fame, and their courage led them to rashness. In their hope of

destroying the Romans, they took no heed to their own safety. They

trusted beyond measure in their strength, and in the strength of their

company. There was a certain pagan, named Bocus, King of the Medes.

He was a rich lord in his land, and captain of a strong legion. Bocus

hastened his men to the battle, for he was fearful of none, however

perilous the knight. When the two hosts clashed together the

contention was very courteous, and the melley passing well sustained.

Pagan and Saracen were set to prove their manhood against Angevins and

the folk of Beauce. King Bocus took a sword, and discomfited the two

paladins. May his body rot for his pains. He thrust Bedevere through

the breast, so fiercely that the steel stood out beyond his back.

Bedevere fell, for his heart was cloven. His soul went its way. May

Jesus take it in His keeping! Kay lighted upon Bedevere lying dead.

Since he loved him more than any living man, he was determined the

pagans should not triumph over his body. He called around him as many

men as he might, and did such deeds that the Medians fled before him,

leaving the Britons on the field. Sertorius, King of Libya, beheld

this adventure, and was passing wroth. He had with him a great company

of pagans whom he had carried from his realm. Sertorius, hot with

anger, drew near, and dealt much mischief to his adversaries. He

wounded Kay to the death, and slew the best of his men. Mauled as he

was with many grim strokes, Kay guarded his comrade's body. He set it

amidst his men, and carried the burthen from the press, fighting as

they went. With him, also, he bore Arthur's banner, the golden Dragon,

let the Romans rage as they would. Now Hiresgas, the nephew of

Bedevere, loved his uncle passing well. He sought his kinsfolk and

friends, and gathered to his fellowship some three hundred men. This

company wore helmet and hauberk and brand, and rode fair destriers,

fierce and right speedy. Hiresgas ordered his house for the battle.

"Come now with me," said he to his friends, "and crave the price

of blood." Hiresgas drew near that place where Bocus, King of the

Medians, displayed his banner. When Hiresgas beheld his enemy he

became as a man possessed. He cried the battle cry of Arthur, and

together with his company charged terribly upon Bocus. He had but one

only thought, to avenge his uncle's death. Hiresgas and his fellows

burst amongst the Medians with lowered lances and covering shields.

They slew many, and flung many others from their saddles. They rode

over the fallen, trampling them beneath the hoofs of the horses, till

they reached the very cohort of that king who had slain Sir Bedevere.

Mounted on strong destriers the bold vassals followed after Hiresgas,

wheeling to right or left, as he led, till they pierced to the

gonfalon, showing the arms of the king. Hiresgas spied his foe. He

turned his horse, and pushing through the press, drew near, and smote

Bocus full on the helm. The baron was a mighty man; the stroke

was fierce, and his blade was keen and strong. He struck well and

craftily. The blow sheared through helmet and coif. It divided the

head to the shoulders, so that the soul of King Bocus sped away to the

Adversary. Hiresgas stretched out his arm, seizing the body ere it

might fall to the ground. He set his enemy before him on his horse,

and held him fast, the limbs hanging on either side. Then he made his

way from the stour, the dead man uttering neither lamentation nor cry.

The knight was grim, and his war-horse mighty. His kinsfolk gathered

behind him, that the Medians should do him no mischief. By the aid of

his fellows he won out of the battle, and carried his burthen to the

very place where his uncle lay. There, joint by joint, he hacked

King Bocus asunder. When his task was ended, Sir Hiresgas called his

comrades about him. "Come," said he, "come, true men's sons, to the

slaying of these Romans. Romans! nay, cutpurses, rather, whoresons,

paynims who have neither trust in God, nor faith in our true religion.

Rome has brought them from the east for the destruction of our lives

and our kin. On then, friends, let us wipe out these pagans, the

pagans, and such renegade Christians as have joined them to slay

Christendom more surely. Forward, to sharpen your manhood upon them."

Hiresgas led his household back to the battle. Tumult and shouting

filled the plain. Helmet and brand glittered in the sun, but the steel

often was dulled with blood, or was shattered on the shield. The fair

duke, Guitard of Poitiers, bore him as a valiant man. He held his own

stoutly against the King of Afric. The two lords contended together,

hand to hand, but it was the King of Afric died that day. Guitard

passed across his body, smiting down many Africans and Moors. Holdin,

Duke of the Flemings, was a wise prince, circumspect and sober in

counsel. He strove with the legion of Aliphatma, a King of Spain.

The two princes fought one with the other, in so great anger, that

Aliphatma was wounded to the death, and Holdin was in no better case.

Ligier, Earl of Boulogne, ran a course with the King of Babylon. I

know not who was the fairer knight, for both were shocked from their

seats. Dead upon the field lay earl and king alike. With Ligier were

slain three other earls, masters of many carles in their own lands.

Urgent, Lord of Bath, Balluc, Earl of Guitsire, and Earl Cursa of

Chester, warden of the marches of Wales, perished in a little space,

so that their men were sorely grieved. The company which followed

after their pennons flinched in the press. It gave back before the

Romans, and fled for shelter to the legion which had Gawain for its

captain, and with him Hoel, his fair friend and companion. Two such

champions you would not find, search the whole world through. Never

had knighthood seen their peers for courtesy and kindliness, as for

Wisdom and chivalry.

Now Hoel was captain of the men of Brittany. His fellowship were proud

and debonair. They were reckless of danger to such a degree that they

neither cared nor feared to whom they were opposed. As one man they

charged, and as one man they pierced through the foe. The men of

Brittany swept down on the Romans, who were pursuing their comrades,

and trampling them under in thousands. They put them speedily to the

rightabout, and rode over many in their turn. Ah!, for the griding of

their swords, and, ah!, for the captives who were taken. The company

hurtled on, till they drew to the golden eagle which was the gonfalon

of the emperor. Lucius, himself, was very near his pennon, and with

him the flower of his meinie, the gentle men and gallant knights of

Rome. Then angels and men witnessed so mortal an encounter, as never

I deem was beheld of any, since time began. Chinmark, Earl of Tigel,

rode in Hoel's cohort. He was a great baron, and wrought much mischief

to his adversaries. His day was come, for a Roman, mean of his

station, and fighting on his feet, flung a javelin at his body, so

that he died. With the earl perished two thousand of the Britons,

every man hardier than his fellows. There, too, were slain three other

earls. Jagus, to his loss, had come from Boloan. The second was hight

Cecormanus, the third, Earl Boclonius. Few indeed of Arthur's barons

might compare with these lords in valour and worth. Had they been sons

of kings, who were but earls, the story of their gestes would be sung

by the minstrels, as I deem, about the world, so marvellous were their

feats. These three fair lords raged wondrously amongst the Romans.

Not one who came to their hands but gasped out his life, whether by

lance-thrust or sword. They forced a path to the eagle of the emperor,

but the bearers arrayed themselves against them, and cutting them off

from their companions, slew them amidst their foes. Hoel and Gawain,

his cousin, were distraught with anger when they regarded the mischief

dealt them by the Romans. To avenge their comrades, to wreak damage

upon their adversaries, they entered amongst them as lions in the

field. They smote down and did much havoc to their adversaries,

cleaving a way with many terrible blows of their swords. The Romans

defended their bodies to the death. If strokes they received, strokes

they rendered again. They opposed themselves stoutly to those who

were over against them, and were as heroes contending with champions.

Gawain was a passing perilous knight. His force and manhood never

failed, so that his strength was unabated, and his hand unwearied in

battle. He showed his prowess so grimly that the Romans quailed before

him. Gawain sought the emperor in every place, because of his desire

to prove his valour. He went to and fro, seeking so tirelessly and

diligently, that at the last he found. The captains looked on the

other's face. The emperor knew again the knight, and Gawain remembered

Lucius. The two hurtled together, but each was so mighty that he fell

not from his horse. Lucius, the emperor, was a good knight, strong

and very valiant. He was skilled in all martial exercises and of much

prowess. He rejoiced greatly to adventure himself against Gawain,

whose praise was so often in the mouths of men. Should he return

living from the battle, sweetly could he boast before the ladies

of Rome. The paladins strove with lifted arm and raised buckler.

Marvellous blows they dealt with the sword. They pained themselves

greatly, doing all that craft might devise to bring the combat to an

end. Neither of them flinched, nor gave back before the other. Pieces

were hewn from the buckler, and sparks flew from the brands. They

joined together, smiting above and thrusting under, two perfect

knights, two gentle paladins, so fierce and so terrible, that had they

been left to themselves very quickly must one have come to a fair end.

The Roman legions recovered from the panic into which they had fallen.

They ranged themselves beneath the golden eagle, and brought succour

to the emperor at the moment of his utmost need. The legions swept

the Britons before them, and won again the field from which they

were driven. Arthur watched the fortunes of the day. He marked the

discomfiture of his host, and hearkened to the triumphant shouts of

the legionaries. He could not, and dared not, wait longer. Arthur

hastened with his chosen company to the battle. He rallied the rout,

crying to the fleeing sergeants, "Whom seek you? Turn about, for it

were better to be slain of the Romans than by your king. I am Arthur,

your captain, and mortal man shall not drive me from the field. Follow

me, for I will open a road, and beware lest the maidens of Britain

hold you as recreant. Call to mind your ancient courage, by which you

have overcome so many proud kings. For my part I will never go from

this field alive, till I have avenged me on my adversaries." Arthur

did wondrously in the eyes of all the people. He struck many a Roman

to the ground. Shield, and hauberk, and helmet he hewed asunder,

heads, arms, and gauntlets were divided by his sword. Excalibur waxed

red that day, for whom Arthur smote he slew. I cannot number the count

of his blows, and every blow a death. For as the ravenous lion deals

with his prey, so likewise did the fair king raven amongst his

enemies. Not one he spared, he turned aside from none. That man he

wounded required no surgeon for his hurt. All the press gave back

before so stark a champion, till in his path stood neither great nor

small. The King of Libya--Sertorius to name--was a lord exceeding

rich. Arthur struck the head from his shoulders. "In an ill hour you

drew from the east to bear arms in this quarrel, and to furnish drink

for Excalibur". But the dead man answered never a word. Polybetes,

King of Bithyma, fought upon his feet. This was a pagan lord, and

passing rich. Arthur found the paynim before him. He smote but one

marvellous blow, and divided his head to the shoulders. Polybetes

crashed to the earth. His soul rushed from his body, and his brains

were spattered about the field. "Roman, speed to your doom," cried

Arthur loudly, in the hearing of all. When the Britons beheld Arthur's

deeds, and hearkened to his high words, they took courage and charged

upon the Romans. The Romans met them boldly with sword and spear,

doing them many and great mischiefs. When Arthur saw that the battle

was stayed, he increased in valour, and did yet more dreadfully with

Excalibur. He slew and cast down divers, so that the ground was

cumbered with the fallen. Lucius, the emperor, for his part, was not

backward in the melley, and avenged himself grievously on the Britons.

Emperor and king, for all their seeking, might not come together.

This was heavy upon them, for each was a very courteous champion. The

battle rolled this way and that, since the contention was passing

perilous. The Romans did well, nor might the Britons do better. A

thousand men came swiftly to their deaths, for the two hosts arrayed

themselves proudly one against the other, and strove right scornfully.

Not a judge on earth could declare which host should be vanquished,

nor what man of them all would come victor and quick from the tourney.

Now Mordup, Earl of Gloucester, was constable of the bailly Arthur

had hidden on a high place within a wood. Mordup remembered Arthur's

counsel that should evil befall, and the battle draw back to the wood,

he must charge boldly on his adversaries. Mordup rode from his hiding

with a company of six thousand six hundred and sixty-six riders, clad

in gleaming helmets and coats of mail, and carrying sharp lances and

swords. These drew down the hillside, unnoticed of the Romans, and

coming out on their rear, charged hotly on the legion. The legion was

altogether discomfited. Its ranks were pierced, its order was broken,

with the loss of more than one thousand men. The Britons rode amongst

the Romans, parting each from his fellow, trampling the fallen beneath

the horses' hoofs, and slaying with the sword. The Romans could

endure no longer, for the end of all was come. They broke from their

companies, and fled fearfully down the broad road, climbing one upon

the other in their haste. There Lucius, the emperor, fell on death,

being smitten in the body by a spear. I cannot tell who smote him

down, nor of whose lance he was stricken. He was overtaken in the

press, and amongst the dead he was found slain. Beneath the thickest

of the battle he was discovered, dead, and the hurt within his breast

was dealt him by a spear.

The Romans and their fellows from the east fled before the pursuers,

but the Britons following after did them sore mischief. They waxed

weary of slaying, so that they trod the Romans underfoot. Blood ran in

runnels, and the slain they lay in heaps. Fair palfreys and destriers

ran masterless about the field, for the rider was dead, and had

neither joy nor delight in the sun. Arthur rejoiced and made merry

over so noble a triumph, which had brought the pride of Rome to the

dust. He gave thanks to the King of Glory, who alone had granted him

the victory. Arthur commanded search to be made about the country for

the bodies of the slain, whether they were friend or foe. Many he

buried in the self-same place, but for the others he carried them to

certain fair abbeys, and laid them together to rest. As for the body

of Lucius, the emperor, Arthur bade it to be held in all honour, and

tended with every high observance. He sealed it in a bier, and sent it

worshipfully to Rome. At the same time he wrote letters to the senate

that no other truage would he pay them for Britain, which he guarded

as his realm. If truage they yet required, then truage they should

receive coined in the very mint. Kay, who was wounded to death in the

battle, was carried to Chinon, the castle he had builded, and called

after his own name. There he was interred in a holy hermitage,

standing in a little grove, near by the city. Bedevere was brought to

Bayeux in Normandy, a town of his lordship. He was lain in the ground

beyond the gate, looking over towards the south. Holdin was borne to

Flanders, and buried at Tervanna. Ligier was buried at Boulogne.

Arthur, for his part, sojourned all through the winter in Burgundy,

giving peace and assurance to the land. He purposed when summer was

come to pass the mountains, and get him to Rome. He was hindered in

his hope by Mordred, of whose shame and vileness you shall now hear.

This Mordred was the king's kin, his sister's very son, and had

Britain in his charge. Arthur had given the whole realm to his care,

and committed all to his keeping. Mordred did whatever was good in his

own eyes, and would have seized the land to his use. He took homage

and fealty from Arthur's men, demanding of every castle a hostage. Not

content with this great sin he wrought yet fouler villainy. Against

the Christian law he took to himself the wife of the king. His uncle's

queen, the dame of his lord, he took as wife, and made of her his

spouse.

These tidings were carried to Arthur. He was persuaded that Mordred

observed no faith towards him, but had betrayed the queen, stolen his

wife, and done him no fair service. The king gave half his host to

Hoel, committing Burgundy and France to his hand. He prayed him to

keep the land shut from its foes till he came again in peace. For

himself he would return to Britain, to bring the kingdom back to its

allegiance, and to avenge himself on Mordred, who had served his wife

and honour so despitefully. Britain, at any cost, must be regained,

for if that were lost all the rest would quickly fall a prey. Better

to defer for a season the conquest of Rome, than to be spoiled of his

own realm. In a little while he would come again, and then would go

to Rome. With these words Arthur set forth towards Wissant, making

complaint of the falseness of Mordred, who had turned him away from

his conquest; for the warships lay at Wissant ready for sea.

Mordred learned of Arthur's purpose. He cared not though he came, for

peace was not in his heart. He sent letters to Cheldric of Saxony,

praying him to sail to his aid. The Saxon came with seven hundred

galleys, furnished with all manner of store, and laden with fighting

men. Mordred plighted faith that so Cheldric would help him with all

his power, he would grant him the land from beyond Humber to the

marches of Scotland, besides all the land in Kent that Hengist held of

Vortigern's gift, when the king espoused Rowena. Mordred and Cheldric

gathered together a right fair company. Counting Saxon pagans and

christened men there assembled sixty thousand riders on horses,

in coats of mail. Mordred numbered his army with a quiet mind. He

considered he was so strong as to drive Arthur from any haven. Let

come what might he would never abandon his spoil. For him there was no

place for repentance, yea, so black was his sin that to proffer peace

would be but a jest. Arthur saw to the harness of his men. He got them

on the ships, a multitude whom none could number, and set forth to

Romney, where he purposed to cast anchor. Arthur and his people had

scarcely issued from the galleys, when Mordred hastened against him

with his own men, and those folk from beyond the sea who had sworn

to fight in his quarrel. The men in the boats strove to get them to

shore; whilst those on the land contended to thrust them deeper in

the water. Arrows flew and spears were flung from one to the other,

piercing heart and bowels and breast of those to whom they were

addressed. The mariners pained themselves mightily to run their boats

aground. They could neither defend themselves, nor climb from the

ships, so that those were swiftly slain who struggled to land. Often

they staggered and fell, crying aloud; and in their rage they taunted

those as traitors who hindered them from coming on shore. Ere the

ships could be unladen in that port, Arthur suffered wondrous loss.

Many a bold sergeant paid the price with his head. There, too, was

Gawain, his nephew, slain, and Arthur made over him marvellous sorrow;

for the knight was dearer to his heart than any other man. Aguisel was

killed at Gawain's side; a mighty lord, and very helpful at need. Many

others also were slain, for whom Arthur, the courteous prince, felt

sore dolour. So long as Mordred kept the shipmen from the sand, he

wrought them much mischief. But when Arthur's sergeants won forth from

the boats, and arrayed them in the open country, Mordred's meinie

might not endure against them. Mordred and his men had fared richly

and lain softly overlong. They were sickly with peace. They knew not

how to order the battle, neither to seek shelter nor to wield arms,

as these things were known to Arthur's host, which was cradled and

nourished in war. Arthur and his own ravened amongst them, smiting

and slaying with the sword. They slew them by scores and by hundreds,

killing many and taking captive many more. The slaughter was very

grievous, by reason of the greatness of the press. When daylight

failed, and night closed on the field, Arthur ceased from slaughter,

and called his war hounds off. Mordred's host continued their flight.

They knew not how they went, nor whither; for there was none to lead

them, and none took heed to his neighbour. Each thought of himself,

and was his own physician. Mordred fled through the night to London,

where he hoped to find succour. He leaned on a reed, for the citizens

would not suffer him to enter in their gates. He turned from the city,

and passing the fair water of the Thames, rode to Winchester without

stay. Mordred sought refuge at Winchester, and tarrying awhile,

summoned his friends to his side. He took hostages and sureties from

the citizens, that peace and faith should be observed between them,

and that they would maintain his right. Arthur might find no rest

by reason of the hatred he bore to Mordred. Great grief was his for

Aguisel and Gawain, the friends whom he had lost. He sorrowed heavily

above his nephew, and offered him seemly burial, though in what place

I cannot tell. The chronicles are silent, and meseems there is not a

man who knows where Gawain was laid[1], nor the name of him who slew

him with the sword. When Arthur had performed these fitting rites he

gave himself over to his wrath, considering only in what way he could

destroy Mordred.

[Footnote 1: The grave of Gawain was fabled to be in Pembrokeshire.]

He followed after the traitor to Winchester, calling from every part

his vassals as he went. Arthur drew near the city, and lodged his host

without the walls. Mordred regarded the host which shut him fast.

Fight he must, and fight he would, for the army might never rise up

till he was taken. Once Arthur had him in his grip well he knew he was

but a dead man. Mordred gathered his sergeants together, and bade them

get quickly into their armour. He arrayed them in companies, and came

out through the gates to give battle to the pursuers. Immediately he

issued from the barriers the host ran to meet him. The contention was

very grievous, for many were smitten and many overthrown. It proved

but an ill adventure to Mordred, since his men were not able to stay

against their adversaries. Mordred was persuaded that for him there

was only one hope of safety, for his trespass was beyond forgiveness,

and much he feared the king. He assembled privily the folk of his

household, his familiar friends, and those who cherished against

Arthur the deepest grudge. With these he fled over by-ways to

Southampton, leaving the rest of his people to endure as they could.

At the port he sought pilots and mariners. These he persuaded by gifts

and fair promises straightway to put out to sea, that he might escape

from his uncle. With a favourable wind the shipmen carried him to

Cornwall. Mordred feared exceedingly for his life, and rejoiced

greatly to begone.

King Arthur besieged Winchester strictly. At the end he took burgesses

and castle. To Yvain, son of Urian, a baron beloved of the court,

Arthur granted Scotland as a heritage. Yvain paid homage for the gift.

Of old Aguisel claimed lordship in the realm, but he was dead, leaving

neither son nor dame to come before Yvain. This Yvain was a right

worshipful knight, worthy, and of passing great valour. Very sweetly

was he praised of many.

That queen, who was Arthur's wife, knew and heard tell of the war that

was waged by Mordred in England. She learned also that Mordred had

fled from before the king, because he might not endure against him,

and durst not abide him in the field. The queen was lodged at York, in

doubt and sadness. She called to mind her sin, and remembered that for

Mordred her name was a hissing. Her lord she had shamed, and set her

love on her husband's sister's son. Moreover, she had wedded Mordred

in defiance of right, since she was wife already, and so must suffer

reproach in earth and hell. Better were the dead than those who lived,

in the eyes of Arthur's queen. Passing heavy was the lady in her

thought. The queen fled to Caerleon. There she entered in a convent

of nuns, and took the veil. All her life's days were hidden in this

abbey. Never again was this fair lady heard or seen; never again was

she found or known of men. This she did by reason of her exceeding

sorrow for her trespass, and for the sin that she had wrought.

Mordred held Cornwall in his keeping, but for the rest the realm

had returned to its allegiance. He compassed sea and land to gather

soldiers to his banner. Saxon and Dane, the folk of Ireland and

Norway, Saracen and pagan, each and all of them who hated Arthur

and loathed his bondage, Mordred entreated to his aid. He promised

everything they would, and gave what he could, like a man whom

necessity drives hard. Arthur was sick with wrath that he was not

avenged of Mordred. He had neither peace nor rest whilst the traitor

abode in his land. Arthur learned of Mordred's strength in Cornwall,

and this was grievous to him. His spies brought tidings of the snares

that Mordred spread, and the king waxed heavier thereat. Arthur sent

after his men to the very Humber. He gathered to himself so mighty

a host that it was as the sand for multitude. With this he sought

Mordred where he knew he could be found. He purposed to slay and make

an end of the traitor and his perjury alike. Mordred had no desire to

shrink from battle. He preferred to stake all on the cast, yea, though

the throw meant death--rather than be harried from place to place.

The battle was arrayed on the Camel, over against the entrance to

Cornwall. A bitter hatred had drawn the hosts together, so that they

strove to do each other sore mischief. Their malice was wondrous

great, and the murder passing grim. I cannot say who had the better

part. I neither know who lost, nor who gained that day. No man wists

the name of overthrower or of overthrown. All are alike forgotten, the

victor with him who died. Much people were slain on either side, so

that the field was strewn with the dead, and crimson with the blood

of dying men. There perished the brave and comely youth Arthur had

nourished and gathered from so many and far lands. There also the

knights of his Table Round, whose praise was bruited about the whole

world. There, too, was Mordred slain in the press, together with the

greater part of his folk, and in the selfsame day were destroyed the

flower of Arthur's host, the best and hardiest of his men. So the

chronicle speaks sooth, Arthur himself was wounded in his body to the

death. He caused him to be borne to Avalon for the searching of his

hurts. He is yet in Avalon, awaited of the Britons; for as they say

and deem he will return from whence he went and live again. Master

Wace, the writer of this book, cannot add more to this matter of his

end than was spoken by Merlin the prophet. Merlin said of Arthur--if

I read aright--that his end should be hidden in doubtfulness.

The prophet spoke truly. Men have ever doubted, and--as I am

persuaded--will always doubt whether he liveth or is dead. Arthur bade

that he should be carried to Avalon in this hope in the year 642 of

the Incarnation. The sorer sorrow that he was a childless man. To

Constantine, Cador's son, Earl of Cornwall, and his near kin, Arthur

committed the realm, commanding him to hold it as king until he

returned to his own. The earl took the land to his keeping. He held it

as bidden, but nevertheless Arthur came never again.