So Elaine was glad, and after the knight and Lavaine had ridden away, she went up the turret stair again to her little room. She took the shield from the corner, and handled the bruises and dints in it lovingly, and made pictures to herself of all the battles and tournaments it had been through with her knight.
Then Elaine sat down and sewed, as Sir Torre would have wise maidens do. But what she sewed was a beautiful cover for the shield, and that Sir Torre would not have her do, for he cared neither for the strange knight nor his shield.
Lancelot rode on towards Camelot, with Lavaine as his squire, till they came to a wood where a hermit lived. And they stayed at the hermitage all night, and the next morning they rode on till they reached Camelot.
And when Lavaine saw the King sitting on a high throne, ready to judge which knight was worthy to have the diamond, he did not think of the grandeur of the throne, nor of the King’s marvellous dress of rich gold, nor of the jewels in his crown. He could think only of the nobleness and beauty of the great King’s face, and wish that his fair sister Elaine might see him too.
Then many brave knights began to fight, and all wondered why Sir Lancelot was not there. And they wondered more at the strange knight, with the bare shield and the red sleeve with pearls on his helmet, who fought so bravely and overthrew the others one by one.
And the King said, ‘Surely this is Sir Lancelot himself.’ But when he saw the lady’s favour on the knight’s helmet, he said, ‘No, it cannot be Sir Lancelot.’
When at last the tournament was over, the King proclaimed that the strange knight who wore the red sleeve embroidered with pearls had won the prize, and he called him to come to take the diamond.
But no one came, and the knight with the red sleeve was nowhere to be seen. For Sir Lancelot had been wounded in his last fight, and when it was over, had ridden hastily from the field, calling Lavaine to follow. And when they had ridden a little way into the wood, Sir Lancelot fell from his horse. ‘The head of the spear is still in my side,’ he moaned; ‘draw it out, Lavaine.’
At first Lavaine was afraid, for he thought of the pain it would give the knight, and he was afraid too that the wound would bleed till his knight bled to death. But because Sir Lancelot was in great suffering, Lavaine at last took courage, and pulled the head of the spear out of Lancelot’s side. Then he, with great difficulty, helped the knight on to his horse, and slowly and painfully they rode towards the hermitage.
They reached it at last, and the hermit came out and called two of his servants to carry the knight into his cell; and they unarmed him and put him to bed. Then the hermit dressed the knight’s wound and gave him wine to drink.