Parsifal's Page

by Gerald Morris

  Parsifal shook his head and, reaching back on his saddle, drew his lance from its fastenings. He pointed the lance at the knight who had spoken, who promptly fainted and fell off his horse. Parsifal raised his visor, looked at the man, then back at Piers. "Do you think I frightened him?" he asked.

  Two of the other knights dismounted and hurried to the unconscious man on the ground, but another rode his horse a step forward and said gruffly, "You still must go away! She wants nothing to do with you!"

  Parsifal ignored him, watching instead the two knights who were helping the man on the ground. They pulled his helm off, and Piers could only stare. He had never seen a thinner face. Parsifal replaced his lance on his saddle and dismounted. "Your friend is not well," he said calmly. "Pierre, bring my horse." Then Parsifal stooped, effortlessly lifted the unconscious man, and carried him toward the castle. Looking at each other helplessly, the other knights followed, and Piers brought up the rear.

  They entered the castle, an odd procession, and were met in the courtyard by a tall woman with a firm chin and a direct gaze. She was a trifle thin, Piers noted, and her clothing hung loosely on her, but even so she was strikingly beautiful. Parsifal set the unconscious knight down in the courtyard, then stood and met the woman's gaze.

  "He passed out," Parsifal said simply. "He looks to me as if he could use a good meal."

  "So could we all," the woman said. "I thank you for bringing my captain back to us. It is an unlooked-for consideration."

  "It was no trouble," Parsifal said. "We weren't busy anyway." He had not taken his eyes from the woman's face, and very slowly, a smile began to curl his mouth. "My name is Parsifal," he said, executing a flawless bow that Sir Gurnemains would have been thrilled to witness, "and I am your servant."

  "Parsifal?" the woman said, her brows rising suddenly. "Then you are not ... good gracious, are you not from King Clamide?"

  Parsifal shook his head. "No. Who is King Clamide?"

  The woman sighed with relief. "Oh, I am so sorry. We've been gravely inhospitable. My name is Conduiramour, and I am the Queen of Belrepeire, which is what we call this castle."

  "Condwir..." Parsifal repeated hesitantly.

  "Conduiramour," the queen said, a dimple showing on her pale cheek. "It's a frightful name, I know. My mother was French, and she thought it was cute. Do you speak French?" Parsifal shook his head, and the queen said, "It means something like 'Love-bringer.' I honor my mother, but she was a bit of a loon sometimes. Please call me Connie."

  Parsifal nodded mutely, his smile growing. Watching his master curiously, Piers suddenly realized that Parsifal was an amazingly handsome fellow. Queen Conduiramour's dimple appeared again.

  "I would ask you to dinner, Sir Parsifal," the queen said, "but it won't be much I'm afraid. You see, King Clamide, the one I mentioned earlier, has decided that I should marry him, and so for the past few months he has seen to it that we have no food. His men occupy all of our farmland and have stolen all of our herds."

  "So that's why your knight is so weak," Parsifal said.

  The knight began to stir, and Queen Conduiramour knelt beside him. "Reynold, you impossible man. I thought I told you not to go out against anybody else."

  "I was feeling much better," the knight muttered.

  "I can tell," the queen said. "Thank you, Reynold. But as it turns out, it was all for nothing anyway. This knight isn't from Clamide at all."

  With a struggle, the knight rose to his feet and looked at Parsifal. "I'm glad to hear it. You looked like a nice chap. Sorry I braced you like that, but I couldn't have Queen Connie doing something silly."

  "I'll decide what I do and whether it's silly or not, Reynold," the queen said reprovingly.

  The knight looked down his nose at the queen. "You can use that tone of voice with someone else, my lady. Someone who didn't teach you to ride your first pony, perhaps. But if you plan to come high and mighty over me, I'll beg leave to go on about my business." Clicking his heels together sharply, he walked away toward the gate.

  The queen sighed. "At least he didn't remind me that his wife used to change my nappies. It's a sad trial being surrounded by people who've known me since I was a child. You know, they wouldn't even tell me what Clamide was doing until they couldn't hide it any longer. They kept serving my dinners like always, while the rest of the castle was on half-rations, then quarter-rations. But forgive me for rattling on. Do come in. We can offer you nothing but a roof over your head, but that we do offer you, and gladly."

  Parsifal did not move. "How many people are here?"

  The queen hesitated, then lifted her chin and said, "No more than thirty souls are left in the castle. And only seven knights."

  Parsifal glanced over his shoulder at Piers. "The venison, Pierre."

  Piers grinned and began emptying their saddlebags of all of the meat that they had carried with them since their last stop. It was little enough for thirty people, but it was still most of a young buck, and everyone could have a few bites. Queen Conduiramour's dimple grew deeper yet.

  That night Queen Conduiramour and an elderly waiting woman sat in a small sitting room with Parsifal. Piers stood correctly behind Parsifal's chair, which made the queen lift her brows again.

  "Please, friend, sit with us," she said to Piers.

  Piers blushed, but he said, "I am comfortable here, your highness."

  The queen glanced at Parsifal, and Parsifal shrugged. "Pierre is, ah, very correct." Piers could not tell, of course, but something in the slight movement of Parsifal's head made him suspect that Parsifal had rolled his eyes.

  Queen Conduiramour chuckled. "As you wish, Pierre." She turned her attention to Parsifal. "So tell me about your adventures."

  "My adventures?"

  "Yes, of course. In my father's day, we held a banquet for every wandering knight and asked him to tell his adventures. My father died two years ago, and I'm afraid that the banquet is out of the question, but we can always hear adventures."

  Parsifal laughed suddenly. "I'm afraid I've as much adventure to tell as you have banquet to share. We both are paupers."

  "But this cannot be! Every knight had adventures to tell. Even if he'd never had any, he could make some up." She chuckled again. "And some of them were surely invented, too."

  "Were they so unbelievable?"

  "Unlikely, shall we say. When a skinny little fellow with bells on his shoes tells about defeating a giant, well, what is one to think?"

  "Giants are not very difficult," Parsifal said. "But most are rather good hearted. I shouldn't think anyone needed to fight one."

  The queen laughed. "There, that's better. Have you known so many giants, then?"

  "Oh no, only a few. I've known more of the little people than the big ones. You know, the faeries and elves and such."

  Everyone in the room was quiet, staring at Parsifal, Piers most of all. He desperately wanted to ask his master if he knew anything about the Seelie Court, that Ariel had spoken of, but he held his tongue.

  "Tell me about the little people," Queen Conduiramour said softly, her eyes bright.

  "First you must tell me what I may do to help you," Parsifal said.

  The queen's eyes clouded, and her face grew grave. "There is little that any one knight can do. King Clamide has won. He sent his men ahead of him to bottle us up, starve us out, weaken us. Most of my men deserted, which was just as well since their departure made what food we had last longer. Then yesterday Clamide sent a messenger saying that he would soon arrive himself to claim my hand in marriage, whether I gave it willingly or not."

  "That does not sound like marriage to me," Parsifal said thoughtfully. "But perhaps there is more than one kind."

  "There must be," Queen Conduiramour said ruefully. "But for my part, I think as you do. What he proposes is not marriage but slavery."

  "That is why you must not do it, my lady!" the waiting woman sitting with her burst out. "Please reconsider!"

  The queen shook her head
. "No, Lisette. You have all declared yourselves my protectors. But I am queen. I should be protecting you."

  The woman sank on her knees in front of the queen's chair. "My lady, we would all consider it an honor to starve for your sake!"

  "But I've no desire to rule over your noble corpses, you foolish woman. Sit up, Lisette. My mind is made up."

  "From which direction did the messenger come?" Parsifal asked.

  "From ... from the east, I believe, but why do you ask?"

  "I was just wondering why I had never heard of this King Clamide before. But we've come from the south." Parsifal's voice was calm and even. "Shall I tell you about the little people now? There is one sprite—Peaseblossom is her name—who's always mislaying her wand. Well, one day I was hunting..."

  For the next two hours, Parsifal told story after story of the doings of the faeries. Piers learned that the Seelie Court was the world of the good faeries and the Unseelie Court the realm of the witches and ogres and monsters. As for the queen, the worry lines on her face faded as she watched Parsifal and listened to his tales, and Piers found himself inching around Parsifal's chair so as to be able to see his master's face better. He had never really wondered where Parsifal had come from, but now—unless Parsifal was making it all up—it appeared that Parsifal had lived much of his life in forests and glens where he had passed easily between the World of Men and another world, a world of enchantment. Something in Piers's soul stretched, as if he were reaching for something that lay just beyond his grasp, and he closed his eyes and saw again the fair girl Ariel as she had been just before she had disappeared in the waterfall. The fire burned down to coals, and then the coals faded, and then at last were dark, and the small party broke up.

  It was still long before dawn when Parsifal shook Piers awake. "Pierre, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need help with my armor. I thought I could do it myself, but it's harder in the dark than I had expected."

  "Armor? Are we leaving?"

  "But of course. We will ride east today, I think. I have a great desire to meet this King Clamide."

  They met the vanguard of King Clamide's army before eight o'clock. Parsifal stopped his horse in the middle of the path and waited for the first knight to reach him.

  "Get out of the way," the knight growled.

  "Are you one of King Clamide's knights?" Parsifal asked.

  "I am. Now begone!"

  "Which one is your master?"

  The knight rode his horse right up to Parsifal and rested his hand on his sword hilt. "I said begone, sirrah, or taste my sword."

  With incredible swiftness, Parsifal reached over from his own saddle, grabbed the knight by the top and the bottom edges of his breastplate, then lifted him clean out of his saddle, and held him high above his head. The other knights riding toward them stopped abruptly, and Piers's own mouth dropped open. "You should be more polite, knight," Parsifal said pleasantly. Then, still holding the knight over his head, Parsifal began to shake him roughly up and down. For a minute the knight yelled in protest and shouted for help, trying vainly to reach his sword, but after a while the knight's yells faded into whimpers, and his arms and legs began to flop limply. With a final heave, Parsifal tossed the knight to the ground, where he lay gasping, an untidy heap of armor on the path.

  Parsifal's horse gave an audible sigh, and Parsifal laughed. "Sorry, old fellow. Were we a bit heavy?" He nudged the horse forward to where the next knight sat, awestruck, on his horse. "Which one is your master?" he repeated.

  "He's in the black armor, sir, just behind us there. You can't miss him. He has a sort of blue and yellow plume on his helmet, and his horse is gray."

  Another knight, sitting nearby, added, "And his shield is white with a black bear on the front, and he always has a blue standard tied to the tip of his lance."

  "I think I should be able to find him now," Parsifal said. "Thank you very much for your help."

  "No trouble at all, sir," the nearest knight said. "Happy to be of service."

  Parsifal and Piers rode through the line of knights, and had no trouble finding the knight in black armor with the blue and yellow plume. Parsifal drew his lance from its lashings on his saddle and leveled it. "If you are on your way to the castle of Belrepeire, then please turn around and go home."

  The knight stopped and stared. "Why should I?"

  "It's not polite to ask impertinent questions," Parsifal said and charged. In a second, the knight was on the ground, a full ten feet behind his horse. "That's why you should go home," Parsifal added.

  The knight leaped to his feet and drew his sword. "You shall pay for that, you dog!"

  Parsifal did not hesitate. Drawing his own sword, he slid easily from the saddle and took his position. The black knight charged, and Parsifal parried his blow, feinted to the left, then struck from the right. The force of his blow sent the black knight stumbling forward to his knees. "Surely you can move faster than that," Parsifal said.

  With a strangled cry, the knight leaped to his feet again and turned, only to have his sword struck from his hand. Parsifal stepped back and let the knight pick up his sword. "You're much slower than Jean le Forestier," Parsifal commented. As soon as the black knight had his sword again, Parsifal lunged forward, struck the knight twice sharply on the helm. Then, while the echoes of the blows were still in the air, Parsifal stuck his own sword in the ground, lifted the black knight from the earth, and threw him into a ditch.

  "Did Jean teach you that?" Piers asked. He hadn't watched very closely, but he didn't remember anyone being thrown around during the training sessions at the woodcutter's hut.

  "No, I just thought of it myself," Parsifal replied, retrieving his sword.

  The black knight charged again, more slowly this time, and Parsifal easily deflected his blow, stepped out of the knight's path, and landed a solid kick on the black knight's backside. The knight lurched forward, fell, and the visor of his helm ploughed a furrow in the dust of the path. There were knights all around, watching, but not one made a sound. The black knight rose shakily to his feet. "I ... have never been ... defeated."

  Parsifal struck twice. At the first blow, he cut right through the blade of the black knight's sword. The second blow struck the knight's helm and drove him to his knees. "Yes, you have," Parsifal said calmly.

  The knight's helm showed a deep dent where Parsifal's sword had hit it. Piers wondered idly if that helm could ever be repaired. It looked like a good helm, and it would be a shame for it to go to waste. Parsifal stood over his defeated opponent, who bowed his head and remained on his knees. There was a long silence; then Parsifal glanced over his shoulder at Piers.

  "Pierre?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Now what do I do?"

  Piers hadn't thought about that. He searched his memory of his mother's stories and vaguely remembered tales of knights sending defeated enemies to pay homage to someone. He said so to Parsifal.

  "Oh, that's a good idea." Parsifal turned back to the knight. "King Clamide, I command you to go—"

  "I'm not King Clamide."

  "What?"

  "I'm not Clamide."

  "But they told me you were."

  "Who told you?"

  "Some of the knights up ahead."

  The knight removed his helm and scowled over his shoulder. "You didn't happen to get the names of the chaps who told you so, did you?"

  "No. I'm sorry. But they did say this was King Clamide's army."

  "Oh, it's Clamide's army, all right. But I'm not him. I'm Sir Kingrun, his seneschal."

  Parsifal frowned. "Which one is Clamide, then?"

  "He's not here yet. He's coming along with a second wave of cavalry. I was supposed to take possession of the castle and have everything set for his triumphal entry."

  "Well, you can't do it now."

  "You don't say," Sir Kingrun said, disgust in his face. "Look here, can I get up?"

  Parsifal glanced at Piers. "What do you think?"

  Piers shr
ugged. "Even if he's not Clamide, you did defeat him. You still ought to send him somewhere."

  Parsifal nodded. "True. Sir Kingrun, I command you to go to Belrepeire and give honor to Queen Conduiramour."

  "No, please," Sir Kingrun said quickly. "I've been laying siege to them for months. They'd kill me!"

  Parsifal hesitated. "You think so?"

  "Of course they would. Wouldn't you?"

  "No."

  "Well, I would. Can't you think of somewhere else for me to go?"

  Parsifal glanced back again. "Pierre?"

  "You could send him to Sir Gurnemains," Piers suggested.

  Sir Kingrun choked. "That old fool? I'd rather you kill me yourself than make me bow down to him."

  Parsifal smiled suddenly. "I've got it. I want you to go to King Arthur's court and do honor to the woman that Sir Kai slapped. I forget her name, so you'll have to ask around."

  Sir Kingrun sighed. "Well, all right. I suppose I can do that. And who shall I say sent me?"

  "My name is Parsifal." With an elegant bow, Parsifal extended his hand and said, "I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance."

  Sir Kingrun looked incredulously at Parsifal's outstretched hand. At last he reached out and shook it weakly. "Charmed, I'm sure," he muttered.

  At Parsifal's command, Sir Kingrun took his whole troop of knights with him as he turned west toward Camelot. Piers and Parsifal continued east.

  Piers edged his horse as close to Parsifal's as he could and still be behind him. "It looked as if you defeated him very easily," Piers commented.

  Parsifal nodded. "Yes. He must not be a very skilled knight, for he was ridiculously slow."

  "He said that he had never been defeated," Piers reminded his master.

  "Then he can't have had many fights," Parsifal replied.

  They met up with King Clamide's army about an hour later. Parsifal had remembered to get a description of the king's armor from Sir Kingrun—painted with gold and set with jewels—so this time he didn't have to stop anyone to ask directions. Instead, he simply pointed his lance and charged. The knights in the lead stopped so abruptly that some of them fell from their horses. Others wheeled and turned, and a few even made an effort to get to their own lances, but by the time anybody was ready to receive a charge, Parsifal was already past. Piers, who had been taken by surprise as much as the knights, simply held on to his hat and followed in the wide wake that Parsifal was leaving behind him.