But the king was passing sorrowful to see his trusty knights lie dead on every side.  And at the last but two remained beside him, Sir Lucan, and his brother, Sir Bedivere, and both were sorely wounded.

“Now am I come to mine end,” said King Arthur; “but, lo! that traitor Modred liveth yet, and I may not die till I have slain him.  Now, give me my spear, Sir Lucan.”

“Lord, let him be,” replied Sir Lucan; “for if ye pass through this unhappy day, ye shall be right well revenged upon him.  My good lord, remember well your dream, and what the spirit of Sir Gawain did forewarn ye.”

“Betide me life, betide me death,” said the king; “now I see him yonder alone, he shall never escape my hands, for at a better vantage shall I never have him.”

“God speed you well,” said Sir Bedivere.

Then King Arthur got his spear in both his hands, and ran towards Sir Modred, crying, “Traitor, now is thy death-day come!” And when Sir Modred heard his words, and saw him come, he drew his sword and stood to meet him.  Then King Arthur smote Sir Modred through the body more than a fathom.  And when Sir Modred felt he had his death wound, he thrust himself with all his might up to the end of King Arthur’s spear, and smote his father, Arthur, with his sword upon the head, so that it pierced both helm and brain-pan.

And therewith Sir Modred fell down stark dead to the earth, and King Arthur fell down also in a swoon, and swooned many times.

Then Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere came and bare him away to a little chapel by the sea-shore.  And there Sir Lucan sank down with the bleeding of his own wounds, and fell dead.

And King Arthur lay long in a swoon, and when he came to himself, he found Sir Lucan lying dead beside him, and Sir Bedivere weeping over the body of his brother.

Then said the king to Sir Bedivere, “Weeping will avail no longer, else would I grieve for evermore.  Alas! now is the fellowship of the Round Table dissolved for ever, and all my realm I have so loved is wasted with war.  But my time hieth fast, wherefore take thou Excalibur, my good sword, and go therewith to yonder water-side and throw it in, and bring me word what thing thou seest.”

So Sir Bedivere departed; but as he went he looked upon the sword, the hilt whereof was all inlaid with precious stones exceeding rich.  And presently he said within himself, “If I now throw this sword into the water, what good should come of it?” So he hid the sword among the reeds, and came again to the king.

“What sawest thou?” said he to Sir Bedivere.

“Lord,” said he, “I saw nothing else but wind and waves.”

“Thou hast untruly spoken,” said the king; “wherefore go lightly back and throw it in, and spare not.”

Then Sir Bedivere returned again, and took the sword up in his hand; but when he looked on it, he thought it sin and shame to throw away a thing so noble.  Wherefore he hid it yet again, and went back to the king.