Le Morte Darthur / by Syr Thomas Malory ; the original edition of William Caxton now reprinted and edited with an introduction and glossary by H. Oskar Sommer ; with an essay on Malory's prose style by Andrew Lang

¶ Capitulum vij

NOw torne we ageyne vnto syre Mordred / that whan he was escaped from the noble knyghte sire Launcelot he anone gat his hors and mounted vpon hym / and rode vnto Kynge Arthur / sore wounded and smyten / and alle

[leaf 404v] forbled / and there he told the kynge alle how hit was / and how they were alle slayne sauf hym self al only / Ihesu mercy how maye this be said the Kynge / toke ye hym in the quenes chamber / Ye soo god me helpe sayd sir Mordred there we fonde hym vnarmed / and there he slewe Colgreuaunce & armed hym in his armour / and alle this he told the kynge from the begynnynge to the endynge

¶ Ihesu mercy sayd the kynge he is a merueyllous knyghte of prowesse / Allas me sore repenteth sayd the Kynge that euer syr launcelot shold be ageynst me / Now I am sure the noble felaushyp of the round table is broken for euer / for with hym wille many a noble knyghte holde / and now it is fallen soo/ sayd the Kyng / that I may not with my worshyp / but the quene must suffer the dethe / Soo thenne there was made grete ordynaunce in this hete / that the quene must be Iuged to the deth And the lawe was suche in tho dayes that what someuer they were / of what estate or degree / yf they were fonde gylty of treson / there shold be none other remedy but dethe / and outher the men or the takynge with the dede shold be causer of their hasty Iugement / and ryghte soo was it ordeyned for quene gueneuer / by cause sir Mordred was escaped sore wounded / and the dethe of thyrtten knyghtes of the round table / these preues & experyences caused kynge Arthur to commaunde the quene to the fyre there to be brente / Thenne spake sir gawayn and sayd my lord Arthur I wold counceylle yow not to be ouer hasty / but that ye wold putte it in respyte this Iugement of my lady the quene for many causes /

¶ One it is though it were so that sir Launcelot were fonde in the quenes chamber / yet it myghte be soo that he came thyder for none euylle / for ye knowe my lord said syr gawayne that the quene is moche beholden vnto syr launcelot more than vnto ony other Knyghte / for oftyme he hath saued her lyf / and done batail for her whan al the Courte refused the quene / and parauenture she sente for hym for goodenes and for none euyl to rewarde hym for his good dedes that he had done to her in tymes past / And peraduenture my lady the quene sente for hym to that entente that syr Launcelot shold come to her good grace pryuely and secretely / wenynge to her that hit was best so to do in eschewyng & dredyng

[leaf 405r] of sklaunder / for oftymes we doo many thynges that we wene it be for the best / & yet peraduenture hit torneth to the werst/ For I dare say sayd syre Gawayne my lady your Quene is to yow bothe good and true / And as for sir Launcelot sayd sir Gawayne I dare saye he wylle make hit good vpon ony knyghte lyuyng that wylle putte vpon hym self vylony or shame / and in lyke wyse he wylle make good for my lady dame Gueneuer / that I byleue wel said kyng Arthur / but I wil not that way with sir Launcelot for he trusteth soo moche vpon his handes and his myghte that he doubteth no man / and therfore for my Quene he shalle neuer fyghte more / for she shall haue the lawe / And yf I maye gete sir Launcelot wete you well he shal haue a shameful dethe / Ihesu defende sayd sir Gawayn that I may neuer see it / why saye ye soo sayd kynge Arthur/ For soth ye haue no cause to loue sir Launcelot / for this nyghte last past he slewe your broder sir Agrauayne a ful good knyghte / & al moost he had slayne your other broder sir mordred And also there he slewe thyrtten noble knyghtes / and also sir Gawayne remembre ye he slewe two sones of yours sire Florence and sir Louel / my lord sayd sir Gawayne of alle thys I haue knouleche of whos dethes I repente me sore / but in so moche I gaf hem warnynge / and told my bretheren and my sones afore hand what wold falle in the ende / in soo moche / they wold not doo by my counceyll I wyl not medle me therof nor reuenge me no thynge of their dethes / for I told hem it was no bote to stryue wyth sir launcelot / how be it I am sory of the deth of my bretheren & of my sones / for they are the causers of theyre owne dethe / For oftymes I warned my broder sir Agrauayne / and I told hym the peryls the which ben now fallen