“My fair son,” answered the hermit, “I know not; but last night, about midnight, there came here a great number of ladies which brought the body of a knight, and they prayed me to bury him.”
“Alas!” cried Bedivere, “then it is my lord King Arthur that lies buried in this chapel.” And he swooned by the side of the tomb. When he came to himself, he vowed that henceforth he would abide with the hermit, and become a holy man. Of the death of King Arthur, and whether he was buried in that tomb, nothing more was certainly known; but many people believed that he was not dead at all, but remained in the Isle of Avallon, with the Lady of the Lake, and would yet come again to recover his kingdom.
In the meanwhile Sir Lancelot heard of the treason of Mordred and the death of Gawaine; and he received Gawaine’s letter, which made him very doleful. So he gathered a great host, and came over into England, but there he heard the evil news of Arthur’s death; and it was told him that Queen Guenever had gone into a nunnery at Almesbury. Thither he went and saw her; and they had a sad meeting, for she bade him an eternal farewell, and told him he must never see her again, for she had dedicated herself to the service of Heaven. And she bade him return to his own kingdom, and rule it fitly, and take to himself a wife. But this Sir Lancelot denied her; for he said that as she had become a nun, so would he also take a religious habit. And this he did, at the same place where was Sir Bedivere and the tomb of King Arthur; and with him abode six knights of his kin, that also became hermits. Six years they dwelt there in great piety and penitence. Then it was made known to Lancelot in a vision that Guenever was dead at Almesbury; and he was bid to bring her to Glastonbury, and bury her by the side of her lord. So the next day he and his six fellows set out for Almesbury, and there they found the queen dead; and they bore her body to Glastonbury, and buried her with great solemnity in the same tomb as King Arthur. And from that time forth Lancelot scarce ever ate or slept, but was always praying by the tomb, so that in six weeks he also waxed very sick and died. He had bidden his fellows to bury him at Joyous Gard, and thither he was borne; and before he was laid in his grave, Sir Bors cried, weeping, “Ah, Sir Lancelot, there thou liest, that wert never matched of any earthly knight’s hands; and thou wert the courtliest knight that ever bare shield; and thou wert the truest friend that ever bestrode horse; and thou wert the truest lover that ever loved woman; and thou wert the kindest man that ever struck with sword; and thou wert the goodliest person that ever came among peers or knights; and thou wert the meekest man, and the gentlest, that ever ate in hall among ladies; and thou wert the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in rest.”
Such is the end of the history of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. After Arthur, his kinsman Constantine, the son of Sir Cador of Cornwall, was chosen King of Britain, and full nobly and worshipfully he ruled the realm. But of the goodly company of the Knights of the Round Table there was no remnant left.
THE END.