"In heaven, mayhap, but not on earth," said Lancelot. "So give me the rites of the church, and after my death, I beg you to take my body to Joyous Gard, for there I have vowed that I would be buried."
When they had heard this, and saw that he was indeed near his end, there was such weeping and wringing of hands among his fellows that they could hardly help the bishop in the holy offices of the church. But that night, after the midnight hour, as the bishop lay asleep, he fell into such a hearty laugh of joy that they all came to him in haste, and asked him what ailed him.
"Why did you wake me?" he cried. "I was never in my life so happy and merry."
"Wherefore?" asked Sir Bors.
"Truly, here was Sir Lancelot with me, with more angels than I ever saw men together; and I saw the angels bear him to heaven, and the gates of heaven opened to him."
"This is but the vexation of a dream," said Sir Bors. "Lancelot may yet mend."
"Go to his bed," said the hermit, "and you shall find if my dream has meaning."
This they hastened to do, and there lay Lancelot dead, but with a smile on his lips, and the sweetest savor about him they ever had known.
Great was the grief that followed, for never earthly man was mourned as was Lancelot. In the morning, after the bishop had made a requiem mass, he and his fellows put the corpse of the noble knight into the same horse-bier that had borne Guenever, and the queen's corpse with it, and they were taken together to Joyous Gard, with such state and ceremony as befitted those of royal blood.
And there all the services of the church were sung and read, while the face of Lancelot lay open for people to see; for such was then the custom of the land. When the services were over they were buried in one tomb, for so great had been their love during life that all men said they should not be divided in death.
During these events, Sir Constantine, the noble son of Sir Cador of Cornwall, had been chosen king of England in Arthur's place, and a worthy monarch he proved, ruling the realm worshipfully and long.
After Lancelot's death the new king sent for the bishop of Canterbury, and restored him to his archbishopric; but Sir Bevidere remained a hermit at Glastonbury to his life's end.
King Constantine also desired the kindred of Lancelot to remain in his realm; but this they would not do, but returned to their own country.
Four of them, Sir Bors, Sir Hector, Sir Blamor, and Sir Bleoberis, went to the Holy Land, where they fought long and stoutly against the Saracens. And there they died upon a Good Friday, for God's sake.
And so ends the book of the life and death of King Arthur and his noble Knights of the Round Table, who were an hundred and fifty when they were all together. Let us pray that God was merciful to them all.
THE END.