In that blow was all the last desperation of Sir Mordred’s life, and so strong was the blow that it sheared through the helmet of King Arthur, and through the coif beneath the helmet, and it sheared through the brain-pan of the King and deep into the brain itself.
Then King Arthur reeled upon his saddle and his body swayed this way and that, and from side to side. And he would have fallen from his saddle only that Sir Bedivere catched him and held him up upon his saddle.
And Sir Mordred wist that he had given King Arthur his death wound, wherefore he fell down upon the ground and he laughed and he said, “So I die, but ere I die I have finished my work, for the King also shall die.” Therewith he breathed very deep, and it was his last breath, for with it his spirit left his body.
Sir Bedivere said to King Arthur, “Lord, are you hurt?” And King Arthur, breathing very heavily, said, “Sir, this wound is the wound of my death as that knight declared. For the wound, I believe, hath pierced into my brain and I cannot live. Messires, take me hence to a shelter.” And King Arthur said, “What building is that yonder?”
Sir Bedivere said, “Lord, it is a chapel upon the field of battle.” King Arthur said, “Take me thither and let me be at peace, for I cannot live but a little while.”
Sir Bedivere and Sir Lucian bring the King, wounded, to the chapel.
So Sir Bedivere dismounted from his horse and he took the horse of King Arthur by the bridle and he led the horse toward the chapel. And Sir Lucian held King Arthur up upon the saddle, and King Arthur swayed from this side to that side, and he would have fallen only that Sir Lucian held him up in his place.
So they two brought King Arthur to the chapel in safety, and they bore him into the chapel and laid him upon a bench that was there. And in thus lifting King Arthur the wounds of Sir Lucian burst out bleeding afresh. And with that Sir Lucian, after King Arthur had been laid upon the bench, sank down upon the ground and lay there frothing at the mouth, and the froth was red.
Sir Lucian dieth.
Then Sir Bedivere cried out, “Ah, my brother! My brother! Art thou hurt?” And King Arthur said, “Search him and see if he be wounded.” So Sir Bedivere examined Sir Lucian and felt his face and his hands, and anon he said, “Lord, my brother is indeed dead. And I knew not even that he had been wounded; for all this while he hath borne his wounds in patience, speaking no words of it, or making no complaint of it. Ah, my brother! My brother! That thou shouldst be dead!”