And when Sir Mordred felt that he
had his death's wound, he thrust himself, with
the might that he had, up to the butt of King
Arthur's spear. And right so he smote his father
Arthur with his sword holden in both his hands,
on the side of the head, that the sword pierced
the helmet and the brain-pan, and therewithal
Sir Mordred fell stark dead to the earth. And
the noble Arthur fell in a swoon to the earth,
and there he swooned oft-times--'"
"That is a good piece of war correspondence, Clarence; you are
a first-rate newspaper man. Well--is the king all right? Did
he get well?"
"Poor soul, no. He is dead."
I was utterly stunned; it had not seemed to me that any wound
could be mortal to him.
"And the queen, Clarence?"
"She is a nun, in Almesbury."
"What changes! and in such a short while. It is inconceivable.
What next, I wonder?"
"I can tell you what next."
"Well?"
"Stake our lives and stand by them!"
"What do you mean by that?"
"The Church is master now. The Interdict included you with Mordred;
it is not to be removed while you remain alive. The clans are
gathering. The Church has gathered all the knights that are left
alive, and as soon as you are discovered we shall have business
on our hands."
"Stuff! With our deadly scientific war-material; with our hosts
of trained--"
"Save your breath--we haven't sixty faithful left!"
"What are you saying? Our schools, our colleges, our vast
workshops, our--"
"When those knights come, those establishments will empty themselves
and go over to the enemy.
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