Sir Gawain approaches Arthur, puts an arm round his shoulder,
and whispers a word like a worm in his ear:
“Remember, uncle, you can only hit him once.
But if your cut should kill him, he can’t repay you, can he?
So bleed the bastard! Make him pay in advance.”
King Arthur furrowed his forehead, eyeing his nephew.
“Go back to your seat and sit, Sir Gawain,” he said,
and Gawain, hanging his head, obeyed,
his cheek rightly reddened with shame.
Then the green knight grinned and knelt on the ground,
bowing his body low before that bold lord;
with his right hand he held his hair aside,
baring the skin on the back of his neck.
Now Arthur heaves the axe up high,
and the highborn lords look on and hold their breath,
and the comely queen closes her eyes—
the axe comes swinging down, slicing through the green neck,
and slams ringing on the solid stone
with sparks.
The fair head fell to the floor,
blood spurting in an arc;
and where it rolled, the lords
and ladies moved apart.