There was a certain pagan, named Bocus, King of the Medes.
He was a rich lord in his land, and captain of a strong legion. Bocus
hastened his men to the battle, for he was fearful of none, however
perilous the knight. When the two hosts clashed together the
contention was very courteous, and the melley passing well sustained.
Pagan and Saracen were set to prove their manhood against Angevins and
the folk of Beauce. King Bocus took a sword, and discomfited the two
paladins. May his body rot for his pains. He thrust Bedevere through
the breast, so fiercely that the steel stood out beyond his back.
Bedevere fell, for his heart was cloven. His soul went its way. May
Jesus take it in His keeping! Kay lighted upon Bedevere lying dead.
Since he loved him more than any living man, he was determined the
pagans should not triumph over his body. He called around him as many
men as he might, and did such deeds that the Medians fled before him,
leaving the Britons on the field. Sertorius, King of Libya, beheld
this adventure, and was passing wroth. He had with him a great company
of pagans whom he had carried from his realm. Sertorius, hot with
anger, drew near, and dealt much mischief to his adversaries. He
wounded Kay to the death, and slew the best of his men.
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