ho 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], n