At the beginning of the following summer, as he was on his march toward Rome and was beginning to pass the Alps, he had news brought him that his nephew Modred, to whose care he had intrusted Britain, had, by tyrannical and treasonable practices, set the crown upon his own head. [Book xi., Chapters i. and ii.] His [Modred’s] whole army, taking Pagans and Christians together, amounted to eighty thousand men, with the help of whom he met Arthur just after his landing at the port of Rutupi, and joining battle with him, made a very great slaughter of his men....  After they had at last, with much difficulty, got ashore, they paid back the slaughter, and put Modred and his army to flight.  For by long practice in war they had learned an excellent way of ordering their forces; which was so managed that while their foot were employed either in an assault or upon the defensive, the horse would come in at full speed obliquely, break through the enemy’s ranks, and so force them to flee.  Nevertheless, this perjured usurper got his forces together again, and the night following entered Winchester.  As soon as Queen Guanhumara [Guinevere] heard this, she immediately, despairing of success, fled from York to the City of Legions, where she resolved to lead a chaste life among the nuns in the church of Julius the Martyr, and entered herself one of their order....

In the battle that followed thereupon, great numbers lost their lives on both sides....  In this assault fell the wicked traitor himself, and many thousands with him.  But notwithstanding the loss of him, the rest did not flee, but running together from all parts of the field, maintained their ground with undaunted courage.  The fight now grew more furious than ever, and proved fatal to almost all the commanders and their forces....  And even the renowned King Arthur himself was mortally wounded; and being carried thence to the isle of Avallon to be cured of his wounds, he gave up the crown of Britain to his kinsman Constantine, the son of Cador, Duke of Cornwall, in the five hundred and forty-second year of our Lord’s incarnation.

THE HOLY GRAIL

From Malory’s ‘Morte d’Arthur’

“Faire knight,” said the King, “what is your name?  I require you of your knighthood to tell me.”

“Sir,” said Sir Launcelot, “wit ye well, my name is Sir Launcelot du Lake.”

“And my name is Sir Pelles, king of the forrain countrey, and nigh cousin unto Joseph of Arithmy” [Arimathea].

Then either of them made much of the other, and so they went into the castle for to take their repast.  And anon there came in a dove at the window, and in her bill there seemed a little censer of gold, and therewithal there was such a savor as though all the spicery of the world had been there; and forthwithal there was upon the table all manner of meates and drinkes that they could thinke upon.  So there came a damosell, passing faire and young, and she beare a vessell of gold between her hands, and thereto the king kneeled devoutly and said his prayers, and so did all that were there.