The fight was quickly at an end, for after a few passes the knight of the pavilion fell to the earth, wounded nearly unto death.
"I yield me, sir knight," he cried. "But I fear I have fought my last."
"Why came you into my bed?" demanded Lancelot.
"The pavilion is my own," said the knight. "It is ill fortune that I should die for seeking my own bed."
"Then I am sorry to have hurt you," said Lancelot. "I have lately been beguiled by treason, and was in dread of it. Come into the pavilion. It may be that I can stanch your blood."
They entered the pavilion, where Lancelot, with skilful hands, dressed the knight's wound and stopped the bleeding. As he did so the knight's lady entered the pavilion, and fell into deep lamentation and accusal of Lancelot, on seeing how sorely her lord was hurt.
"Peace, my lady and love," said the knight. "This is a worthy and honorable gentleman. I am in fault for my hurt, and he has saved my life by his skill and care."
"Will you tell me what knight you are?" asked the lady.
"Fair lady," he replied, "my name is Lancelot du Lake."
"So your face and voice told me," she replied, "for I have seen you often, and know you better than you deem. And I would ask of your courtesy, for the harm you have done to my lord Beleus and the grief you have given me, that you will cause my lord to be made a Knight of the Round Table. This I can say for him, that he is a man of warlike prowess, and the lord of many islands."