Than sir Mordred soughte uppon quene Gwenyver by lettirs and sondis, and by fayre meanys and foule meanys, to have her to com oute of the Towre of London; but all thys avayled nought, for she answerd hym shortely, opynly and pryvayly, that she had levir sle herselff than to be maryed with hym.
Than cam there worde unto sir Mordred that kynge Arthure had areysed the syge frome sir Launcelot and was commynge homwarde wyth a greate oste to be avenged uppon sir Mordred, wherefore sir Mordred made wryttes unto all the baronny of thys londe. And muche people drew unto hym; for than was the comyn voyce amonge them that with kynge Arthur was never othir lyff but warre and stryff, and with sir Mordrede was grete joy and blysse. Thus was kynge Arthur depraved, and evyll seyde off; and many there were that kynge Arthur had brought up of nought, and gyffyn them londis, that myght nat than say hym a good worde.
Lo, ye all Englysshemen, se ye nat what a myschyff here was? For he that was the moste kynge and nobelyst knyght of the worlde, and moste loved the felyshyp of noble knyghtes, and by hym they all were upholdyn, and yet myght nat thes Englyshemen holde them contente with hym. Lo thus was the olde custom and usayges of thys londe, and men say that we of thys londe have nat yet loste that custom. Alas! thys ys a greate defaughte of us Englysshemen, for there may no thynge us please no terme.
And so fared the peple at that tyme: they were better pleased with sir Mordred than they were with the noble kynge Arthur, and muche people drew unto sir Mordred and seyde they wold abyde wyth hym for bettir and for wars. And so sir Mordred drew with a greate oste to Dovir, for there he harde sey that kyng Arthur wolde aryve, and so he thought to beate hys owne fadir fro hys owne londys. And the moste party of all Inglonde hylde wyth sir Mordred, for the people were so new-fangill.
[2] And so as sir Mordred was at Dovir with hys oste, so cam kyng Arthur wyth a greate navy of shyppis and galyes and carykes, and there was sir Mordred redy awaytyng uppon hys londynge, to lette hys owne fadir to londe uppon the londe that he was kynge over.
Than there was launchyng of greate botis and smale, and full of noble men of armys; and there was muche slaughtir of jantyll knyghtes, and many a full bolde barown was layde full lowe, on bothe partyes. But kynge Arthur was so currageous that there myght no maner of knyght lette hym to lande, and hys knyghtes fyersely folowed hym. And so they londed magré sir Mordredis hede and all hys powere, and put sir Mordred abak, that he fledde and all hys people.
So whan thys batayle was done, kynge Arthure let serche hys people that were hurte and dede. And than was noble sir Gawayne founde in a greate boote, liynge more than halff dede. Whan kyng Arthur knew that he was layde so low he wente unto hym and so fownde hym. And there the kynge made greate sorow oute of mesure, and toke sir Gawayne in hys armys, and thryse he there sowned. And than whan he was waked, kyng Arthur seyde, ‘Alas! sir Gawayne, my syster son, here now thou lyghest, the man in the worlde that I loved moste. And now ys my joy gone! For now, my nevew, sir Gawayne, I woll discover me unto you, that in youre person and in sir Launcelot I moste had my joy and myne affyaunce. And now have I loste my joy of you bothe, wherefore all myne erthely joy ys gone fro me!’
A, myn uncle,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘now I woll that ye wyte that my deth-dayes be com! And all, I may wyte, myne owne hastynes and my wylfulnesse, for thorow my wylfulnes I was causer of myne owne dethe; for I was thys day hurte and smytten uppon myne olde wounde that sir Launcelot gaff me, and I fele myselff that I muste nedis be dede by the owre of noone. And thorow me and my pryde ye have all thys shame and disease, for had that noble knyght, sir Launcelot, ben with you, as he was and wolde have ben, thys unhappy warre had never ben begunne; for he, thorow hys noble knyghthode and hys noble bloode, hylde all youre cankyrde enemyes in subjeccion and daungere. And now,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘ye shall mysse sir Launcelot. But alas that I wolde nat accorde with hym! And there fore, fayre unkle, I pray you that I may have paupir, penne, and inke, that I may wryte unto sir Launcelot a letter wrytten with myne owne honde.’
So whan pauper, penne and inke was brought, than sir Gawayne was sette up waykely by kynge Arthure, for he was shryven a lytyll afore. And than he toke hys penne and wrote thus, as the Freynshe booke makith mencion:
‘Unto the, sir Launcelot, floure of all noble knyghtes that ever I harde of or saw be my dayes, I, sir Gawayne, kynge Lottis sonne of Orkeney, and systirs sonne unto the noble kynge Arthur, sende the gretynge, lattynge the to have knowlecche that the tenth day of May I was smytten uppon the olde wounde that thou gaff me afore the cité of Benwyke, and thorow that wounde I am com to my detheday. And I woll that all the worlde wyte that I, sir Gawayne, knyght of the Table Rounde, soughte my dethe, and nat thorow thy deservynge, but myne owne sekynge. Wherefore I beseche the, sir Launcelot, to returne agayne unto thys realme and se my toumbe and pray som prayer more other les for my soule. And thys same day that I wrote the same sedull I was hurte to the dethe, whych wounde was fyrste gyffyn of thyn honde, sir Launcelot; for of a more nobelar man myght I nat be slayne.
‘Also, sir Launcelot, for all the love that ever was betwyxte us, make no taryyng, but com over the see in all the goodly haste that ye may, wyth youre noble knyghtes, and rescow that noble kynge that made the knyght, for he ys full straytely bestad wyth an false traytoure whych ys my halff-brothir, sir Mordred. For he hath crowned hymselff kynge, and wolde have wedded my lady, quene Gwenyver; and so had he done, had she nat kepte the Towre of London with stronge honde. And so the tenth day of May last paste my lorde kynge Arthur and we all londed uppon them at Dover, and there he put that false traytoure, sir Mordred, to flyght. And so hit there mysfortuned me to be smytten uppon the strooke that ye gaff me of olde.
And the date of thys lettir was wrytten but two owrys and an halff afore my dethe, wrytten with myne owne honde and subscrybed with parte of my harte blood. And therefore I requyre the, moste famous knyght of the worlde, that thou wolte se my tumbe.’
And than he wepte and kynge Arthur both, and sowned. And whan they were awaked bothe, the kynge made sir Gawayne to resceyve hys sacrament, and than sir Gawayne prayde the kynge for to sende for sir Launcelot and to cherysshe hym aboven all othir knyghtes.
And so at the owre of noone sir Gawayne yelded up the goste. And than the kynge lat entere hym in a chapell within Dover castell. And there yet all men may se the skulle of hym, and the same wounde is sene that sir Launcelot gaff in batayle.
Than was hit tolde the kynge that sir Mordred had pyght a new fylde uppon Bareon Downe. And so uppon the morne kynge Arthur rode thydir to hym, and there was a grete batayle betwyxt hem, and muche people were slayne on bothe partyes. But at the laste kynge Arthurs party stoode beste, and sir Mordred and hys party fledde unto Caunturbyry.
[3] And than the kynge let serche all the downys for hys knyghtes that were slayne and entered them; and salved them with soffte salvys that full sore were wounded. Than much people drew unto kynge Arthur, and than they sayde that sir Mordred warred uppon kynge Arthure wyth wronge.
And anone kynge Arthure drew hym wyth his oste downe by the seesyde westewarde, towarde Salusbyry. And there was a day assygned betwyxte kynge Arthur and sir Mordred, that they shulde mete uppon a downe bysyde Saiesbyry and nat farre frome the seesyde. And thys day was assygned on Monday aftir Trynyté Sonday, whereof kynge Arthur was passyng glad that he myght be avenged uppon sir Mordred.
Than sir Mordred araysed muche people aboute London, for they of Kente, Southsex and Surrey, Esax, Suffolke and Northefolke helde the moste party with sir Mordred. And many a full noble knyght drew unto hym and also the kynge; but they that loved sir Launcelot drew unto sir Mordred.
So uppon Trynyté Sunday at nyght kynge Arthure dremed a wondirfull dreme, and in hys dreme hym semed that he saw uppon a chafflet a chayre, and the chayre was faste to a whele, and thereuppon sate kynge Arthure in the rychest clothe of golde that myght be made. And the kynge thought there was undir hym, farre from hym, an hydeous depe blak watir, and therein was all maner of serpentis and wormes and wylde bestis fow
le and orryble. And suddeynly the kynge thought that the whyle turned up-so-downe, and he felle amonge the serpentis, and every beste toke hym by a lymme. And than the kynge cryed as he lay in hys bed, ‘Helpe! helpe!’
And than knyghtes, squyars and yomen awaked the kynge, and than he was so amased that he wyste nat where he was. And than so he awaked untylle hit was nyghe day, and than he felle on slumberynge agayne, nat slepynge nor thorowly wakynge. So the kyng semed verryly that there cam sir Gawayne unto hym with a numbir of fayre ladyes wyth hym. So whan kyng Arthur saw hym he seyde, ‘Wellcom, my systers sonne, I wende ye had bene dede! And now I se the on lyve, much am I beholdyn unto Allmyghty Jesu. A, fayre nevew, what bene thes ladyes that hyder be com with you?’
‘Sir,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘all thes be ladyes for whom I have foughten for, whan I was man lyvynge. And all thes ar the that I ded batayle fore in ryghteuous quarels, and God hath gyvyn hem that grace at their grete prayer, bycause I ded batayle for them for their ryght, that they shulde brynge me hydder unto you. Thus much hath gyvyn me leve God for to warne you of youre dethe: for and ye fyght as to-morne with sir Mordred, as ye bothe have assygned, doute ye nat ye shall be slayne, and the moste party of youre people on bothe partyes. And for the grete grace and goodnes that Allmyghty Jesu hath unto you, and for pyté of you and many me other good men there shall be slayne, God hath sente me to you of Hys speciall grace to gyff you warnyng that in no wyse ye do batayle as to-morne, but that ye take a tretyse for a moneth-day. And proffir you largely, so that to-morne ye put in a delay. For within a moneth shall com sir Launcelot with all hys noble knyghtes, and rescow you worshypfully, and sle sir Mordred and all that ever wyll holde wyth hym.’
Than sir Gawayne and all the ladyes vanysshed, and anone the kynge called uppon hys knyghtes, squyars, and yomen, and charged them wyghtly to fecche hys noble lordis and wyse bysshoppis unto hym. And whan they were com the kynge tolde hem of hys avision, that sir Gawayne had tolde hym and warned hym that and he fought on the morn, he sholde be slayne. Than the kynge commanded sir Lucan the Butlere and hys brothir sir Bedyvere the Bolde, with two bysshoppis wyth hem, and charged them in ony wyse to take a tretyse for a moneth-day wyth sir Mordred:
‘And spare nat, proffir hym londys and goodys as much as ye thynke resonable.’
So than they departed and cam to sir Mordred where he had a grymme oste of an hondred thousand, and there they entretyd sir Mordred longe tyme. And at the laste sir Mordred was aggreed for to have Cornwale and Kente by kynge Arthurs dayes; and afftir that all Inglonde, after the dayes of kynge Arthur.
[4] Than were they condescende that kynge Arthure and sir Mordred shulde mete betwyxte bothe their ostis, and everych of them shulde brynge fourtene persons. And so they cam wyth thys worde unto Arthur. Than seyde he, ‘I am glad that thys ys done,’ and so he wente into the fylde.
And whan kynge Arthur shulde departe he warned all hys hoost that and they se ony swerde drawyn, ‘loke ye com on fyersely and sle that traytoure, sir Mordred, for I in no wyse truste hym’. In lyke wyse sir Mordred warned hys oste, ‘that and ye se ony maner of swerde drawyn, loke that ye com on fyersely and so sle all that ever before you stondyth, for in no wyse I woll nat truste for thys tretyse’. And in the same wyse seyde sir Mordred unto hys oste: ‘for I know well my fadir woll be avenged uppon me.’
And so they mette as their poyntemente was, and were agreed and accorded thorowly. And wyne was fette, and they dranke togydir. Ryght so cam oute an addir of a lytyll hethe-buysshe, and hit stange a knyght in the foote. And so whan the knyght felte hym so stonge, he loked downe and saw the adder; and anone he drew hys swerde to sle the addir, and thought none othir harme. And whan the oste on bothe partyes saw that swerde drawyn, than they blewe beamys, trumpettis, and hornys, and shoutted grymly, and so bothe ostis dressed hem togydirs. And kynge Arthur toke hys horse and seyde, ‘Alas, this unhappy day!’ and so rode to hys party, and sir Mordred in lyke wyse.
And never syns was there never seyne a more dolefuller batayle in no Crysten londe, for there was but russhynge and rydynge, foynynge and strykynge, and many a grym worde was there spokyn of aythir to othir, and many a dedely stroke. But ever kynge Arthure rode thorowoute the batayle of sir Mordred many tymys and ded full nobely, as a noble kynge shulde do, and at all tymes he faynted never. And sir Mordred ded hys devoure that day and put hymselffe in grete perell.
And thus they fought all the longe day, and never stynted tylle the noble knyghtes were layde to the colde erthe. And ever they fought stylle tylle hit was nere nyght, and by than was there an hondred thousand leyde dede uppon the erthe. Than was kynge Arthure wode wrothe oute of mesure, whan he saw hys people so slayne frome hym.
And so he loked aboute hym and cowde se no me of all hys oste and good knyghtes leffte, no me on lyve but two knyghtes: the tone was sir Lucan de Buttler and hys brother, sir Bedwere; and yette they were full sore wounded.
‘Jesu mercy!’ seyde the kynge, ‘where ar all my noble knyghtes becom? Alas, that ever I shulde se thys doleful day! For now’, seyde kynge Arthur, ‘I am com to myne ende. But wolde to God,’ seyde he, ‘that I wyste now where were that traytoure sir Mordred that hath caused all thys myschyff.’
Than kynge Arthur loked aboute and was ware where stood sir Mordred leanyng uppon hys swerde amonge a grete hepe of dede men.
‘Now, gyff me my speare,’ seyde kynge Arthure unto sir Lucan, ‘for yondir I have aspyed the traytoure that all thys woo hath wrought.’
‘Sir, latte hym be,’ seyde sir Lucan, ‘for he ys unhappy. And yf ye passe this unhappy day ye shall be ryght well revenged. And, good lord, remembre ye of your nyghtes dreme and what the spyryte of sir Gawayne tolde you to-nyght, and yet God of Hys grete goodnes hath preserved you hyddirto. And for Goddes sake, my lorde, leve of thys, for, blyssed be God, ye have won the fylde: for yet we ben here three on lyve, and with sir Mordred ys nat one of lyve. And therefore if ye leve of now, thys wycked day of Desteny ys paste!’
‘Now tyde me dethe, tyde me lyff,’ seyde the kyng, ‘now I se hym yondir alone, he shall never ascape myne hondes! For at a bettir avayle shall I never have hym.’
‘God spyede you well!’ seyde sir Bedyvere.
Than the kynge gate his speare in bothe hys hondis, and ran towarde sir Mordred, cryyng and saying, ‘Traytoure, now ys thy dethe-day com!’
And whan sir Mordred saw kynge Arthur he ran untyll hym with hys swerde drawyn in hys honde, and there kyng Arthur smote sir Mordred undir the shylde, with a foyne of hys speare, thorowoute the body more than a fadom. And whan sir Mordred felte that he had hys dethys wounde he threste hymselff with the myght that he had upp to the burre of kyng Arthurs speare, and ryght so he smote hys fadir, kynge Arthure, with hys swerde holdynge in both hys hondys, uppon the syde of the hede, that the swerde perced the helmet and the tay of the brayne. And therewith Mordred daysshed downe starke dede to the erthe.
And noble kynge Arthure felle in a swoughe to the erthe, and there he sowned oftyntymys, and sir Lucan and sir Bedwere offtetymys hove hym up. And so waykly betwyxte them they lad hym to a lytyll chapell nat farre frome the see, and whan the kyng was there, hym thought hym resonabely eased.
Than harde they people crye in the fylde.
‘Now go thou, sir Lucan,’ seyde the kyng, ‘and do me to wyte what betokyns that noyse in the fylde.’
So sir Lucan departed, for he was grevously wounded in many placis; and so as he yode he saw and harkened by the moonelyght how that pyllours and robbers were com into the fylde to pylle and to robbe many a full noble knyght of brochys and bees and of many a good rynge and many a ryche juell. And who that were nat dede all oute, there they slew them for their harneys and their ryches.
Whan sir Lucan undirstood thys warke he cam to the kynge as sone as he myght, and tolde hym all what he had harde and seyne.
‘Therefore be my rede,’ seyde sir Lucan, ‘hit ys beste that we brynge you to som towne.’
‘I wolde hit were so,’ seyde the kynge, ‘but I may nat ston
de, my [5] hede worchys so... A, sir Launcelot!’ seyde kynge Arthure, ‘thys day have I sore myssed the! And alas, that ever I was ayenste the! For now have I my dethe, whereof sir Gawayne me warned in my dreame.’
Than sir Lucan toke up the kynge the tone party and sir Bedwere the othir parté, and in the lyfftyng up the kynge sowned, and in the lyfftynge sir Lucan felle in a sowne, that parte of hys guttis felle oute of hys bodye, and therewith the noble knyght hys harte brfaste. And whan the kynge awoke he behylde sir Lucan, how he lay fomyng at the mowth and parte of his guttes lay at hys fyete.
‘Alas,’ seyde the kynge, ‘thys ys to me a fulle hevy syght, to se thys noble deuke so dye for my sake, for he wold have holpyn me that had more nede of helpe than I! Alas, that he wolde nat complayne hym, for hys harte was so sette to helpe me. Now Jesu have mercy uppon hys soule!’
Than sir Bedwere wepte for the deth of hys brothir.
‘Now leve thys mournynge and wepyng, jantyll knyght,’ seyde the kyng, ‘for all thys woll nat avayle me. For wyte thou well, and I myght lyve myselff, the dethe of sir Lucan wolde greve me evermore. But my tyme passyth on faste,’ seyde the kynge. ‘Therefore,’ seyde kynge Arthur unto sir Bedwere, ‘take thou here Excaliber, my good swerde, and go wyth hit to yondir watirs syde; and whan thou commyste there, I charge the throw my swerde in that water, and com agayne and telle me what thou syeste there.’
‘My lorde,’ seyde sir Bedwere, ‘youre commaundement shall be done, and lyghtly brynge you worde agayne.’
So sir Bedwere departed. And by the way he behylde that noble swerde, and the pomell and the hauffte was all precious stonys. And than he seyde to hymselff, ‘If I throw thys ryche swerde in the water, thereof shall never com good, but harme and losse.’ And than sir Bedwere hyd Excalyber undir a tre, and so as sone as he myght he cam agayne unto the kynge and seyde he had bene at the watir and had throwen the swerde into the watir.
Complete Works of Sir Thomas Malory Page 98
