Trumpets without.
Mordred. Make haste! Make haste! Where tarrieth this Squire of mine? We must ride to Dover ere it darkens.
A Knight. He cometh now, Sire.
Enter Vivien, disguised as a Squire.
Mordred. Dost thou keep thy king? thou wert long in coming.
Vivien. I came with all speed, Sire.
Mordred. Thou seemest over pink and white for this work.
Canst thou fight?
Vivien. Yea, Sire, I can use a dagger.
Mordred. Then follow—Ho, there without! Now for Mordred’s doom.