He promised
everything they would, and gave what he could, like a man whom
necessity drives hard. Arthur was sick with wrath that he was not
avenged of Mordred. He had neither peace nor rest whilst the traitor
abode in his land. Arthur learned of Mordred's strength in Cornwall,
and this was grievous to him. His spies brought tidings of the snares
that Mordred spread, and the king waxed heavier thereat. Arthur sent
after his men to the very Humber. He gathered to himself so mighty
a host that it was as the sand for multitude. With this he sought
Mordred where he knew he could be found. He purposed to slay and make
an end of the traitor and his perjury alike. Mordred had no desire to
shrink from battle. He preferred to stake all on the cast, yea, though
the throw meant death--rather than be harried from place to place.
The battle was arrayed on the Camel, over against the entrance to
Cornwall. A bitter hatred had drawn the hosts together, so that they
strove to do each other sore mischief. Their malice was wondrous
great, and the murder passing grim. I cannot say who had the better
part. I neither know who lost, nor who gained that day. No man wists
the name of overthrower or of overthrown. All are alike forgotten, the
victor with him who died.
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