ng and
attacking, he bore his shield ever before him, covering himself from
the fierce blows of his enemy.

Thus he kept up his own strength; but hard put to it was he when,
towards midday, Sir Gawaine seemed to have the might of a very giant,
and the shield arm of Sir Lancelot was numbed by reason of the crashing
blows which Sir Gawaine's sword rained upon it.

Great travail indeed had Sir Lancelot to stand up and not to yield; and
while men marvelled how he could endure, none knew all he suffered.

Then, as the bell of the convent in the town boomed forth the hour of
noon, Sir Gawaine heaved up his sword for a final blow; but his sword
descended just as the last stroke of twelve had died away, and Sir
Lancelot marvelled to feel that what should have been so grievous a
blow that, belike, he could not have stood before it, fell upon his
shield with no more than the strength of the blow given by an ordinary
man.

When Sir Lancelot felt the might of Sir Gawaine so suddenly give way,
he drew himself up to his full height and said:

'Sir Gawaine, I know not by what evil power ye have fought, but now I
feel that ye have done. Now, my lord, Sir Gawaine, I must do my part,
for none may know the great and grievous strokes I have endured this
day with great pain.'

With that Sir Lancelot redoubled his blows, and the sword of Sir
Gawaine gave before the might of Sir Lancelot, and his shield was rent.
Then Sir Lancelot gave so great a buffet on the helm of the other that
Sir Gawaine staggered, and with yet another blow Sir Lancelot hurled
him headlong to the ground.

Men held their breath, for now, after so fierce and stubborn a
struggle, they felt sure that Sir Lancelot, hot and enraged against his
enemy, would rip off the other's helm and strike his head off
instantly.

But, instead, Sir Lancelot stood for a moment looking at his prostrate
enemy. Then men gasped to see him thrust his sword into its scabbard
with a clang, turn on his heel and begin to walk away.

They saw the prone knight raise his head and look as if in surprise at
the retreating figure of Sir Lancelot.

'Why dost thou depart?' cried Sir Gawaine, rage in his mocking voice.
'Turn again, false knight, and slay me! If ye leave me thus, thou shalt
gain nothing from it, for when I am whole I will slay thee when I may.'

Men marvelled to hear a fallen foe use such shameful and hateful words,
but they marvelled much more when Sir Lancelot, turning, cried: