For a monster more loathly and horrible, a
giant so hideous and misshapen, was never slain by man, than the devil
Arthur killed to himself that day, in Mont St. Michel, over against
the sea.
After Arthur had slam the monster, and Bedevere had taken his head,
they went their way to the host in great mirth and content. They
reached the camp, and showed the spoil to all who would, for their
hearts were high with that which they had done. Hoel was passing
sorrowful for that fair lady, his niece, making great lamentation for
a while over her who was lost in so fearsome a fashion. In token of
his dolour he budded on the mount a chapel to Our Lady St. Mary, that
men call Helen's Tomb to this very day. Although this fair chapel
was raised above the grave of this piteous lady, and is yet hight
Tombelame, none gives a thought to the damsel after whom it is named.
Nothing more have I to relate concerning this adventure, and would
tell you now of that which happened to the host.
When the men of Ireland, and those others for whom Arthur tarried, had
joined themselves to the host, the king set forth, a day's march every
day, through Normandy. Without pause or rest he and his fellowship
passed across France, tarrying neither at town nor castle, and came
speedily into Burgundy.
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