the Queen is free to
go, and that all the other prisoners have been set at liberty and are
free to go whenever it suits and pleases them. Wherever the people of
the land gather together, they ask each other about the truth of this
report, and never talk of anything else. They are very much enraged that
all the dangerous passes have been overcome, and that any one may come
and go as he pleases. But when the natives of the country, who had not
been present at the battle, learned how Lancelot had been the victor,
they all betook themselves to the place where they knew he must pass
by, thinking that the king would be well pleased if they should seize
Lancelot and hale him back to him. All of his own men were without
their arms, and therefore they were at a disadvantage when they saw the
natives of the country coming under arms. It was not strange that they
seized Lancelot, who was without his arms. They lead him back prisoner,
his feet lashed together beneath his horse. Then his own men say:
"Gentlemen, this is an evil deed; for the king has given us his
safe-conduct, and we are under his protection." But the others reply:
"We do not know how that may be; but as we have taken you, you must
return with us to court." The rumour, which swiftly flies and runs,
reaches the king, that his men have seized Lancelot and put him to
death. When the king hears it, he is sorely grieved and swears angrily
by his head that they who have killed him shall surely die for the deed;
and that, if he can seize or catch them, it shall be their fate to be
hanged, burned, or drowned. And if they attempt to deny their deed, he
will not believe what they say, for they have brought him such grief and
shame that he would be disgraced were vengeance not to be exacted from
them; but he will be avenged without a doubt. The news of this spread
until it reached the Queen, who was sitting at meat. She almost killed
herself on hearing the false report about Lancelot, but she supposes it
to be true, and therefore she is in such dismay that she almost loses
the power to speak; but, because of those present, she forces herself
to say: "In truth, I am sorry for his death, and it is no wonder that
I grieve, for he came into this country for my sake, and therefore I
should mourn for him." Then she says to herself, so that the others
should not hear, that no one need ask her to drink or eat, if it is
true that he is dead, in whose life she found her own. Then grieving