‘As I do you,’ said Perceval; and with that they wheeled their horses away and drew
apart, set their shields in place and lances in rests and charged. They clashed with such force
that they smashed the painted covers from their shields and split them asunder; their
hauberks* saved them, but the lances were strong and so fiercely thrust that when the blows
landed full on their chests they sent each other crashing to the ground. But there was no
discredit in being unhorsed, for their saddles and harness and breast-straps were all torn
loose, and the horses hit the turf before the knights. Up they leapt and assailed each other
furiously with their swords of well-honed steel. There was no love lost: they exchanged
such fearsome blows, holding nothing back, that helmets, hauberks, shields were wrecked.
It was a harsh and terrible battle, their blows so dreadful that they made each other reel,
seeing stars, and the hot, red blood came gushing forth as their hauberks were pierced, their
steel helms cloven, their shields so battered that they barely covered their fists. For a moment
they paused to recover breath; then back they came, dealing mighty blows with their naked
blades, awesomely sharp. Then Perceval launched two fierce attacks, landing three blows
in quick succession, blows so ferocious that he fell face down before him. Perceval jumped
back on the horse that had borne him in that fearsome charge – but he wasn’t done: he
returned to the attack, and would have killed him in moments had the knight not cried:
‘In God’s name have mercy, noble sir! Don’t kill me – I’m beaten, I swear! I surrender
to you, admit defeat! I’ll do whatever you wish!’
Perceval, who wasn’t hard-hearted but kind and compassionate, said: ‘In that case
you must do exactly as I say.’
‘I’ll obey your command, sir, without demur!’
‘Go then,’ he said, ‘and without delay, and yield as a prisoner to King Arthur. This
you must swear.’
‘I’ll go gladly, sir,’ the knight replied. ‘I know the way to the king’s court well. And
I’ll go armed and in the very state that I am now.’ And he asked in whose name he
should surrender.
‘You must make your promise first, in faith,’ said Perceval. ‘When you come to court
you can tell the king you’re yielding on behalf of the knight who gave them such a hard
time at the tournament16 and kept his name from everyone, even the most renowned,
and met Gawain in combat and they both unhorsed each other – indeed, you must give
the noble Gawain a thousand salutations from me. But come – tell me your name: I want
to know.’
‘Truly, sir,’ he said, ‘I am called Mordred.’

Gerbert's Continuation of Perceval