so that at every stroke he was sore wounded, and his blood ran from him so fast that it was a marvel he could stand.  When King Arthur saw the ground so sore be-blooded, he bethought him in dismay that there was magic treason worked upon him, and that his own true sword was changed, for it seemed to him that the sword in Sir Accolon’s hand was Excalibur, for fearfully it drew his blood at every blow, while what he held himself kept no sharp edge, nor fell with any force upon his foe.

“Now, knight, look to thyself, and keep thee well from me,” cried out Sir Accolon.  But King Arthur answered not, and gave him such a buffet on the helm as made him stagger and nigh fall upon the ground.  Then Sir Accolon withdrew a little, and came on with Excalibur on high, and smote King Arthur in return with such a mighty stroke as almost felled him; and both being now in hottest wrath, they gave each other grievous and savage blows.  But Arthur all the time was losing so much blood that scarcely could he keep upon his feet yet so full was he of knighthood, that knightly he endured the pain, and still sustained himself, though now he was so feeble that he thought himself about to die.  Sir Accolon, as yet, had lost no drop of blood, and being very bold and confident in Excalibur, even grew more vigorous and hasty in his assaults.  But all men who beheld them said they never saw a knight fight half so well as did King Arthur; and all the people were so grieved for him that they besought Sir Damas and Sir Outzlake to make up their quarrel and so stay the fight; but they would not.

So still the battle raged, till Arthur drew a little back for breath and a few moments’ rest; but Accolon came on after him, following fiercely and crying loud, “It is no time for me to suffer thee to rest,” and therewith set upon him.  Then Arthur, full of scorn and rage, lifted up his sword and struck Sir Accolon upon the helm so mightily that he drove him to his knees; but with the force of that great stroke his brittle, treacherous sword broke short off at the hilt, and fell down in the grass among the blood, leaving the pommel only in his hand.  At that, King Arthur thought within himself that all was over, and secretly prepared his mind for death, yet kept himself so knightly sheltered by his shield that he lost no ground, and made as though he yet had hope and cheer.  Then said Sir Accolon, “Sir knight, thou now art overcome and canst endure no longer, seeing thou art weaponless, and hast lost already so much blood.  Yet am I fully loth to slay thee; yield, then, therefore, to me as recreant.”  “Nay,” said King Arthur, “that may I not, for I have promised to do battle to the uttermost by the faith of my body while my life lasteth; and I had rather die with honour than live with shame; and if it were possible for me to die an hundred times, I had rather die as often than yield me to thee, for though I lack weapons, I shall lack no worship, and it shall be to thy shame to slay me weaponless.”  “Aha,” shouted then Sir Accolon, “as for the shame, I will not spare; look to thyself, sir knight, for thou art even now but a dead man.”  Therewith he drove at him with pitiless force, and struck him nearly down; but Arthur evermore waxing in valour as he waned in blood, pressed on Sir Accolon with his shield, and hit at him so fiercely with the pommel in his hand, as hurled him three strides backwards.