"Peace, thou false priest," cried Mordred. "Chafe me no more, or I shall order that thy head be stricken off."
Finding that words were useless, the bishop departed, and, as he had threatened, laid the curse of the church on Mordred. Roused to rage by this, the usurper sought him to slay him, and he fled in all haste to Glastonbury, where he took refuge as a hermit in a chapel. But well he knew that war was at hand, and that the rightful king would soon strike for the throne.
Despite the anathema of the church, Mordred continued his efforts to get Guenever into his power; but she held firmly to the Tower, repelling all his assaults, and declaring openly that she would rather kill herself than marry such a wretch. Soon afterwards he was forced to raise the siege, for word came to him by secret messengers that Arthur had heard of his treason, and was coming home with his whole host to revenge himself on the usurper of his crown.
When Mordred heard this he made strenuous efforts to gather a large army, and many lords joined him with their people, saying that with Arthur there had been nothing but war and strife, but that with Mordred they hoped for peace and a quiet life. Thus was evil said of the good King Arthur when he was away from the land, and that by many who owed to him their honors and estates. Mordred was thus quickly able to draw with a great host to Dover, where he had heard that Arthur would land, for he hoped to defeat and slay him before he could get firm footing on England's soil.
Not long had he been there when a great fleet of ships, galleys, and carracks appeared upon the sea, bearing the king's army back to their native realm. On the beach stood Mordred's host, drawn up to prevent the landing of the king's army. As the boats came to the shore, laden with noble men-of-arms, a fierce struggle ensued, in which many a knight was slain, while full many a bold baron was laid low on both sides. But so courageous was the king, and so fierce the onset of his knights, that the opposing host could not hinder the landing of his army. And when they had gained a footing on the land, they set on Mordred with such fury that he and all his host were driven back and forced to fly, leaving Arthur master of the field.
After the battle, the king ordered that the dead should be buried and the wounded cared for. Among the latter Sir Gawaine was found lying in a great boat, where he had been felled with a deadly wound in the bitter strife. On hearing this direful news, Arthur hastened to him and took him in his arms, with great show of grief and pain.
"In you and in Lancelot I had my highest joy," moaned the king. "Now I have lost you both, and all my earthly happiness is gone."
"My death is at hand," said Gawaine, "and I owe it all to my own hate and bitterness for I am smitten on the old wound that Lancelot gave me, and feel that I must die. Had he but been with you this unhappy war would never have begun. Of all this I am the cause, and have but received my deserts. Therefore I pray you, dear uncle, let me have paper, pen, and ink, that I may write to Sir Lancelot with my own hand."
These were brought him, and Gawaine wrote a moving and tender letter to Lancelot, blaming himself severely for his hardness of heart.
In this wise it ran,—