At these words, stubbornly spoken in spite of the furious looks of Sir Gawaine, the knight realised that the man was speaking the truth.
His look was fixed on the face of the knave, and rage and grief filled his eyes as he grasped the fact that his beloved brother was really slain. Then the blood surged into his face, and he dashed away.
Men started to see the wild figure of Sir Gawaine rushing through the passages, his eyes bloodshot, his face white. At length he dashed into the presence of the king. Arthur stood sorrowing amidst his knights, but Sir Gawaine rushed through them and faced the king.
'Ha! King Arthur!' he cried, half breathless, but in a great wild voice, 'my good brother, Sir Gareth, is slain, and also Sir Gaheris! I cannot bear the thought of them slain. It cannot be true! I cannot believe it!'
'Nay, nor can any think upon it,' said the king, 'and keep from weeping.'
'Ay, ay,' said Sir Gawaine in a terrible voice, 'there shall be weeping, I trow, and that erelong. Sir, I will go see my dead brothers. I would kiss them ere they be laid in earth.'
'Nay, that may not be,' said the king gently. 'I knew how great would be thy sorrow, and that sight of them would drive thee mad. And I have caused them to be interred instantly.'
'Tell me,' said Gawaine, and men marvelled to see the wild look in his eyes and to hear the fierce voice, 'is it truth that Sir Lancelot slew them both?'
'It is thus told me,' said the King, 'that in his fury Sir Lancelot knew not whom he smote.'
'But, man,' thundered Sir Gawaine, 'they bare no arms against him! Their hearts were with him, and young Gareth loved him as if—as if Lancelot was his own brother.'