“Madam,” said Sir Lancelot, “is there any armour within your chamber that I might cover my body withal, for if I was armed as they are I would soon crush them?”
“Alas!” replied the Queen, “I have neither sword nor spear nor armour, and how can you resist them? You will be slain and I shall be burnt. If you could only escape their hands, I know you would deliver me from danger.”
“It is grievous,” said Sir Lancelot, “that I who was never conquered in all my life should be slain for lack of armour.”
“Traitor Knight,” cried Sir Mordred again, “come out and fight us, for you are so sore beset that you cannot escape us.”
“Oh, mercy,” cried Sir Lancelot, “I may not suffer longer this shame and noise! For better were death at once than to endure this pain.” Then he took the Queen in his arms and kissed her, and said, “Most noble Christian Queen, I beseech you, as you have ever been my special good lady, and I at all times your true poor Knight, and as I never failed you in right or in wrong, since the first day that King Arthur made me Knight, that you will pray for my soul, if I be here slain. For I am well assured that Sir Bors, my nephew, and Sir Lavaine and many more, will rescue you from the fire, and therefore, mine own lady, comfort yourself whatever happens to me, and go with Sir Bors, my nephew, and you shall live like a Queen on my lands.”
“Nay, Lancelot,” said the Queen, “I will never live after your days, but if you are slain I will take my death as meekly as ever did any Christian Queen.”
“Well, Madam,” answered Lancelot, “since it is so, I shall sell my life as dear as I may, and a thousandfold I am more heavy for you than for myself.”
Therewith Sir Lancelot wrapped his mantle thickly round his arm, and stood beside the door, which the Knights without were trying to break in by aid of a stout wooden form.
“Fair Lords,” said Sir Lancelot, “leave this noise, and I will open the door, and you may do with me what you will.”