n
they had gained a footing on the land, they set on Mordred with such
fury that he and all his host were driven back and forced to fly,
leaving Arthur master of the field.

After the battle, the king ordered that the dead should be buried and
the wounded cared for. Among the latter Sir Gawaine was found lying in a
great boat, where he had been felled with a deadly wound in the bitter
strife. On hearing this direful news, Arthur hastened to him and took
him in his arms, with great show of grief and pain.

"In you and in Lancelot I had my highest joy," moaned the king. "Now I
have lost you both, and all my earthly happiness is gone."

"My death is at hand," said Gawaine, "and I owe it all to my own hate
and bitterness for I am smitten on the old wound that Lancelot gave me,
and feel that I must die. Had he but been with you this unhappy war
would never have begun. Of all this I am the cause, and have but
received my deserts. Therefore I pray you, dear uncle, let me have
paper, pen, and ink, that I may write to Sir Lancelot with my own hand."

These were brought him, and Gawaine wrote a moving and tender letter to
Lancelot, blaming himself severely for his hardness of heart.

In this wise it ran,--

"Unto Sir Lancelot, flower of all noble knights, I, Sir Gawaine, son of
King Lot of Orkney, and sister's son unto the noble King Arthur, send
greeting; and also these sad tidings, that on the tenth day of May I was
smitten on the old wound which you gave me at Benwick, and thus through
this wound have I come to my death. And I would have all the world know
that I, Sir Gawaine, Knight of the Round Table, have met with death not
through your ill-will, but from my own seeking; therefore I beseech you
to come in all haste to this realm, to which you have heretofore done
such honor. I earnestly pray you, Sir Lancelot, for all the love that
ever was betwixt us, make no tarrying, but come over the sea in all
haste, that thou mayest with thy noble knights rescue that royal king
who made thee knight, for he is hard bested with a false traitor, my own
half-brother, Sir Mordred, who has had himself crowned king, and would
have wedded Queen Guenever had she not taken refuge in the Tower of
London. We put him to flight on our landing, on the tenth day of May,
but he still holds against us with a great host. Therefore, I pray you
to come, for I am within two hours of my death; and I beg that you will
visit my tomb, and pray some praye