Lancelot rode until he reached a marsh beside a tower where he saw great company of armed knights-easily thirty or more-in front of the gate. When he saw them all lined up in the middle of the road, he wondered what it could be, for he certainly did not think they could be waiting for him. So he rode on toward the knights, but they shouted to him when he was a little closer that he was as good as dead, and then charged him en masse. When he saw this, he was not frightened, for he was unafraid of anything that could happen to him. He headed to meet the first of them and drove his spear through his body. Then more than ten of them struck him at the same time, killing his horse and knocking him to the ground; but without a regret for his horse he leapt swiftly to his feet and drew his sword, enraged that they had taken him by surprise. He began striking all about himself, destroying every thing he touched, both helmets and shields, and killing knights. He was so quick and agile that anyone who saw it had to marvel, for he defended himself better than anyone else could ever have done. Yet the others pressed him on all sides, not wishing to let him escape and struck him hard blows wherever they could-but that was not often, for he defended himself so well that no one dared approach him directly. Nonetheless, they inflicted enough injuries, both small and large, that he lost a lot of blood, yet he was not in the least exhausted or fatigued because of it, but kept slashing to the front and to the rear and protecting his life so well that everyone was awe. Those who were attacking him began to regret it, for they saw that he was such a worthy opponent that they did not want to harm him.

The Vulgate Cycle