Now as they talked, it befell that an adder, coming out of a bush hard by, stung a knight in the foot; and he, seeing the snake, drew his sword to kill it and thought no harm thereby.  But on the instant that the sword flashed, the trumpets blared on both sides and the two hosts rushed to battle.  Never was there fought a fight of such enmity; for brother fought with brother, and comrade with comrade, and fiercely they cut and thrust, with many a bitter word between; while King Arthur himself, his heart hot within him, rode through and through the battle, seeking the traitor Mordred.  So they fought all day, till at last the evening fell.  Then Arthur, looking round him, saw of his valiant knights but two left, Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere, and these sore wounded; and there, over against him, by a great heap of the dead, stood Sir Mordred, the cause of all this ruin.  Thereupon the King, his heart nigh broken with grief for the loss of his true knights, cried with a loud voice, “Traitor! now is thy doom upon thee!” and with his spear gripped in both hands, he rushed upon Sir Mordred and smote him that the weapon stood out a fathom behind.  And Sir Mordred knew that he had his death wound.  With all the might that he had, he thrust him up the spear to the haft and, with his sword, struck King Arthur upon the head, that the steel pierced the helmet and bit into the head; then Mordred fell back, stark and dead.

Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere went to the King where he lay, swooning from the blow, and bore him to a little chapel on the seashore.  As they laid him on the ground, Sir Lucan fell dead beside the King, and Arthur, coming to himself, found but Sir Bedivere alive beside him.

So King Arthur lay wounded to the death, grieving, not that his end was come, but for the desolation of his kingdom and the loss of his good knights.  And looking upon the body of Sir Lucan, he sighed and said:  “Alas! true knight, dead for my sake!  If I lived, I should ever grieve for thy death, but now mine own end draws nigh.”  Then, turning to Sir Bedivere, who stood sorrowing beside him, he said:  “Leave weeping now, for the time is short and much to do.  Hereafter shalt thou weep if thou wilt.  But take now my sword Excalibur, hasten to the water side, and fling it into the deep.  Then, watch what happens and bring me word thereof.”  “My Lord,” said Sir Bedivere, “your command shall be obeyed”; and, taking the sword, he departed.  But as he went on his way, he looked on the sword, how wondrously it was formed and the hilt all studded with precious stones; and, as he looked, he called to mind the marvel by which it had come into the King’s keeping.  For on a certain day, as Arthur walked on the shore of a great lake, there had appeared above the surface of the water a hand brandishing a sword.  On the instant, the King had leaped into a boat, and, rowing into the lake, had got the sword and brought it back to land.  Then he had seen how, on one side the blade, was written,