Next morning the battle was joined again. Very fiercely fought the king's party, for Sir Gawaine had commanded that no quarter should be given, and that whoever slew a knight of Sir Lancelot's should have his helm filled with gold. Sir Gawaine himself raged like a lion about the field, his spear in rest. He sought for Sir Lancelot; but that knight always avoided him, and great was Gawaine's rage and scorn. At length Sir Bors saw Sir Gawaine from afar, and spurred across the field towards him. 'Ha! Sir Bors,' cried the other mockingly, 'if ye will find that cowardly cousin of thine, and bring him here to face me, I will love thee.' ''Twere well I should not take thy words seriously,' mocked Sir Bors in his turn. 'For if I were to bring him to thee, thou wouldst sure repent it. Never yet hath he failed to give thee thy fall, for all thy pride and fierceness.' This was truth. Often in the jousting of earlier days, when Sir Lancelot had come in disguise and had been compelled to fight Sir Gawaine, the latter had had the worst. But Sir Lancelot, loving his old brother-in-arms as he did, had in later years avoided the assault with Sir Gawaine; yet the greater prowess and skill of Sir Lancelot were doubted by none. Sir Gawaine raged greatly at the words of Sir Bors, for he knew they were true, though he had wished they were not. 'Thy vaunting of thy recreant kinsman's might will not avail thee,' he cried furiously. 'Defend thyself!' 'I came to have to do with thee,' replied Sir Bors fiercely. 'Yesterday thou didst slay my cousin Lionel. To-day, if God wills it, thou thyself shall have a fall.' Then they set spurs to their horses and met together so furiously that the lance of either bore a great hole in the other's armour, and both were borne backwards off their horses, sorely wounded. Their friends came and took them up and tended them, but for many days neither of the knights could move from their beds. When the knights of Sir Lancelot saw that Sir Bors was grievously wounded, they were wroth with their leader. Going to him, they charged him with injuring his own cause. 'You will not exert yourself to slay these braggart foes of yours,' they said to him. 'What does it profit us that you avoid slaying knights because, though they are now your bitter foes, they were once brothers of the Round Table? Do they avoid ye, and seek not to slay you and us your kindred and friends? Sir Lionel is dead, and he is your brother; and Sir Galk, Sir Griffith, Sir Saffre and Sir Conan--all good and mighty knights--are wounded sorely. Ye were ever courteous and kindly, Sir Lancelot,' they ended, 'but have a care lest now your courtesy ruin not your cause and us.'