“Spare not, Sir,” answered Sir Lavaine, “for I shall do what I may.” So they rode into the thickest of the [press], and smote so hard both with spear and sword that the Knights of the Round Table fell back. “O mercy!” cried Sir Gawaine, “what Knight is that yonder who does such marvellous deeds?”
“I know well who it is,” said King Arthur, “but I will not tell you yet.”
“Sir,” answered Sir Gawaine, “I should say it was Sir Lancelot by the blows he deals and the manner that he rides, but it cannot be he, for this man has a red sleeve upon his helmet, and Sir Lancelot has never borne the token of any lady.”
“Let him be,” said Sir Arthur, “you will find out his name, and see him do greater deeds yet, before he departs.” And the Knights that were fighting against the King’s party took heart again, for before they feared they would be beaten. But when Sir Bors saw this, he called unto him the Knights that were of kin to Sir Lancelot, and they banded together to make a great charge, and threw Sir Lancelot’s horse to the ground, and by misfortune the spear of Sir Bors broke, and its head was left in Sir Lancelot’s side. When Sir Lavaine saw that, he unhorsed the King of Scots, and brought his horse to Sir Lancelot, and helped him to mount thereon and gave him a spear, with which Sir Lancelot smote Sir Bors to the earth and Sir Ector de Maris, the foster-father of King Arthur, and buffeted sorely the Knights that were with them. Afterward he hurled himself into the thick [mêlée] of them all, and did the most wonderful deeds that ever were heard of. And Sir Lavaine likewise did well that day, for he smote down full two Knights of the Round Table. “Mercy,” again cried Sir Gawaine to Arthur, “I marvel what Knight that is with the red sleeve.”
“That you shall know soon,” said King Arthur, and commanded that the trumpets should be blown, and declared that the prize belonged to the Knight with the white shield, who bare the red sleeve, for he had unhorsed more than thirty Knights. And the Kings and Lords who were of his party came round him and thanked him for the help he had given them, by which means the honours of the day had been theirs.
“Fair Lords,” said Sir Lancelot, “if I have deserved thanks, I have paid for them sorely, for I shall hardly escape with my life, therefore I pray you let me depart, for my hurt is grievous.” Then he groaned piteously, and galloped from them to a wood’s side, followed by Sir Lavaine. “Oh help me, Sir Lavaine,” said he, “to get this spear’s head out of my side, for it is killing me.” But Sir Lavaine feared to touch it, lest Sir Lancelot should bleed to death. “I charge you,” said Sir Lancelot, “if you love me, draw out the head,” so Sir Lavaine drew it out. And Sir Lancelot gave a great shriek, and a marvellous grisly groan, and his blood flowed out so fast that he fell into a swoon. “Oh what shall I do?” cried Sir Lavaine, and he loosed Sir Lancelot’s helm and coat of mail, and turned him so that the wind might blow on him, but for full half an hour he lay as if he had been dead. And at last Sir Lancelot opened his eyes, and said, “O Lavaine, help me on my horse, for two miles from this place there lives a hermit who once was a Knight of the Round Table, and he can heal my wounds.” Then Sir Lavaine, with much ado, helped him on his horse, and brought him bleeding to the hermit. The hermit looked at him as he rode up, leaning piteously on his saddle-bow, and he thought that he should know him, but could not tell who he was for the paleness of his face, till he saw by a wound on his cheek that it was Sir Lancelot.
“You cannot hide your name from me,” said the hermit, “for you are the noblest Knight in the world, and well I know you to be Sir Lancelot.”
“Since you know me, Sir,” said he, “help me for God’s sake, and for death or life put me out of this pain.”
“Fear nothing,” answered the hermit, “your pain will soon be gone,” and he called his servants to take the armour off the Knight, and laid him in bed. After that he dressed the wound, and gave him good wine to drink, and Sir Lancelot slept and awoke free of his pain. So we will leave him to be healed of his wound, under the care of the hermit, and go back to King Arthur.
Now, it was the custom in those days that after a tourney was finished, a great feast should be held at which both parties were assembled, so King Arthur sent to ask the King of [Northgalis], where was the Knight with the red sleeve, who had fought on his side. “Bring him before me,” he said, “that he may have the prize he has won, which is his right.” Then answered the King with the hundred Knights, “We fear the Knight must have been sore hurt, and that neither you nor we are ever like to see him again, which is grievous to think of.”