The Legend of Parzival

by Robin Cook

  Another great shout went up from the watchers on the city walls. Gahmuret looked up and acknowledged the crowd by raising his spear. The defeated Razalic was sent back to his Moorish army to tell them that the siege of Patelamunt was over.

  Gahmuret cantered round the jousting ground to show his mastery, and nobody else was prepared to challenge him after the defeats he had inflicted on Hiuteger and Razalic. He made his way back to the city, where the crowds continued to cheer him for delivering them from the siege. Queen Belacane herself came down the steps of the palace, took his horse’s bridle and led him through the streets. When Gahmuret dismounted, they went up the steps and turned together to greet the jubilant crowd before entering the building.

  The queen herself unbuckled his armour and sent her maids to bring sweet-smelling water to wash away the grime and dust of battle. When this was done, Gahmuret was escorted to the queen’s own room, where a bed covered in a beautiful sable awaited them. Belacane dismissed her ladies and closed the door behind them.

  The following morning, Queen Belacane, richly attired, and with Gahmuret on her arm, presented him as king of Zazamanc. Great celebrations were held to confirm their union, and Gahmuret received the fealty of the lords of the country and presented them with lavish gifts.

  After a while, the tents were struck, pavilions were taken down and the vast armies prepared to depart, some by land and some by sea, leaving Gahmuret and his queen to rule together.

  They loved each other very much, but Gahmuret grew restless. He could not conceive of a life without challenge and battle, and soon he desired to seek adventure once more in far-off lands.

  He knew the queen had no idea and would be distraught if he told her. He could not face her misery, so he planned a surreptitious departure. He swore the commander of his ships to secrecy and told him to prepare the swiftest ships as though he were sailing on an embassage to Alexandria. They would leave at the darkest time of night and Gahmuret would join at the last possible moment.

  Thus it was that poor Belacane awoke one morning to find her lord was gone. Urgent enquiries yielded the information that three ships had left in the night, and it was only then that she found his letter:

  From one Love to Another,

  I steal away in secret to spare you the grief of parting. I must seek further adventure and cannot rest till I have achieved all that lies within my power. My conscience troubles me, because we do not share the same faith. If only this could be. If you bear a child, and he is a man, let him know who his father is, for he will be a mighty warrior. He is descended from Uther Pendragon.

  If only God wills it, we will meet again.

  Gahmuret

  The queen suffered agonies of grief, for indeed she was with child and had planned to tell him. She loved Gahmuret so much that she would happily have been baptised into the Christian faith.

  For many a day Belacane watched the ships in the harbour, wondering if any could bring her news of Gahmuret, but it was not to be. The months went past and the time came for her to give birth – and a most remarkable child this was. It was a boy, and his skin was mottled black and white, somewhat in the manner of a magpie. There was a strange beauty about the child, and he did grow up to be a mighty knight, as his father predicted. She called him Feirefiz.

  Gahmuret went as the winds took him until, a year after his flight, he landed in Spain. He travelled to Toledo, where his cousin was king, and was royally entertained. Before too long he set off again, because he had heard of a great tournament to be held in Waleis.

  Chapter 2

  Herzeleide, queen of Waleis, was seeking a husband and so invited all brave knights to compete for her hand at a grand tournament. Streams of knights with their serving men, squires and baggage trains converged on the city of Kanvoleis, and a whole town of pavilions and tents sprang up in the surrounding meadows.

  Shrill trumpets sounded, and all looked to see Gahmuret make a magnificent entrance, his drummers drumming and the sweet sound of flutes enchanting the air. Her interest much aroused, the queen sent immediately to find who this impressive figure may be, for rarely had she seen such Arabian splendour.

  Her squire returned to announce, “His attendants come from many lands. Some are Moorish, but some speak French. All are lavishly dressed, and the man himself is king of Zazamanc.”

  “Does he come to present himself to me?” enquired Herzeleide.

  “Indeed,” replied the squire. “He has left his men pitching his pavilion. And what a pavilion! They say he won it in fair combat in a far-off land. And his helmet! The casque is of adamant ringed with diamond.”

  “He sounds a noble knight, and one well travelled,” said the queen, and watched the unexpected contestant’s cavalcade ride up to her palace. Gahmuret paused to salute her from the courtyard below her window. Her maids chattered excitedly about his good looks and rich apparel, and the queen had to rebuke them mildly for passing such unbecoming comments, even though she was thinking, “Ah! If such a one would win me…”

  Gahmuret, however, was thinking, a little ruefully, of Queen Anflise of France. When he had first started out on his adventures, long before he had found his way to Baghdad, he had devoted himself to Anflise’s service, although she was married to another. He had suffered much in love for her and sent her many a token. He wondered if she might be at the tournament.

  However, such thoughts were soon driven from his mind as he found himself greeted with enthusiasm and respect by many old acquaintances, such as Razalic of Azagouc from the siege of Patelamunt. King Lot of Norway, who was there with his young son Gawain, told him that old Uther Pendragon had come down, but King Arthur was away in search of his mother, who had been abducted by an enchanter. King Kingrisun of Ascalon came to greet him and, with him, Morholt of Ireland and Gurnemanz of Graharz. This was truly a meeting of all the great and mighty of Christendom and beyond.

  The air was suffused with a sense of excitement and expectation. That evening, the Vesper Tournament would take place, so the knights could measure the ground, test their equipment, accustom their horses to the terrain and test each other’s mettle with a little jousting practice. Gahmuret was preparing for the tournament when a royal chaplain accompanied by three squires appeared at the entrance to his pavilion.

  “Soyez le bien venu, beau sire,” said he, “I am sent by la reine de France, and give you this.” He presented a package that contained a small ring and a letter. Gahmuret read the letter silently and carefully.

  To Gahmuret – my own true knight – greetings,

  Ever since I discovered you loved me, I have kept a place for you in my heart. Now I may return your love as wife, for the old king is dead. Come to me and be rewarded with a crown and a kingdom. I wish you to fight for me at Kanvoleis. It matters little that the queen of Waleis should know that you are mine, for I am lovelier and richer than she, and know better how to charm with love. In fighting for me, you fight for honour and love.

  Anflise

  After a pause, Gahmuret said, “I will give you my answer tomorrow.” The chaplain bowed, and Gahmuret nodded to him, a little curtly, and occupied himself with checking the girth on his horse to disguise his confusion, for he did not know what to think. Now he had two queens to fight for.

  As he mounted his horse and took his shield and spear from the squire, he looked grim and serious. He set off to the jousting meadow hoping that he would be able to think what to do later.

  Many knights were already cantering up and down the meadow, measuring the distances and exchanging friendly remarks, and Gahmuret joined the criss-crossing of knights. Some requested trial exchanges, couching their spears and striking glancing blows off their opponents’ shields, testing their lances and accustoming their horses to the jolts and jars of contact. Soon, as men will, they began to take sides and count the blows. Then someone struck too hard and his opponent was unhorsed. As tempers frayed, more serious blows were exchanged and Gahmuret found himself challenged from several sid
es. Then he noticed someone had drawn a sword!

  Knights jostled and pushed, striking at first with the flat of the blade until, inevitably, blood was drawn. The fighting became more furious and Gahmuret struck two threatening knights from their horses in quick succession. As he moved towards the edge of the throng, he saw a knight approaching with an inverted shield bearing the sign of the Panther, his family’s crest, which he had given up in favour of the Anchor. He raised his hand in greeting and the Angevin knight lifted his visor.

  “The noble Gahmuret? I bring sad news. Your brother Galoes is dead. He was killed fighting at Muntori.”

  Gahmuret was stunned. He thanked the knight and made his way back to his pavilion. Here was news indeed! Confusion reigned as he struggled to make sense of everything. Where was he to turn? Surely he should leave immediately. But what of the tournament? And Queen Anflise? And Queen Herzeleide?

  The sound of the jousting continued for some time, but it faded as dusk began to fall. Gahmuret sat alone in his tent, ruminating, and he barely noticed when a squire came in to light the candles on the olive branches which decorated the inside. “My lord,” said the squire, “I have urgent news.”

  Gahmuret looked at him absently.

  “The tournament is… over.” The squire hesitated. “There will be no contest tomorrow. The queen… Herzeleide is outside and wishes to speak to you.”

  “What’s this?” asked Gahmuret gruffly, scarce understanding what the boy meant. “What are you talking about?”

  “Too many knights have been wounded… and the queen… she is outside…” He hesitated again and looked warily at Gahmuret.

  “Yes. Of course. Bring her in,” said Gahmuret, pulling himself together, adjusting his cloak and rising from his chair. The squire hastened outside, and the next moment the queen, attended by her maids and her steward, entered the pavilion. In the light of the candles she was an enchanting sight, her complexion a little flushed by the nature of her visit. She extended her hand to Gahmuret, who took it and bowed. A page hurried to provide her with a chair, but she stayed him with a motion of her hand.

  “I do not stay long,” she said. “I have come but to tell you that the Vesper Tournament became so violent that many knights were wounded and will be unable to take part in a contest tomorrow. This leaves me with a difficult decision.” She drew breath, blushed a little, and went on. “My ladies and I watched, and we are agreed that you have won the contest.” The maids curtsied, smiling at him, rather knowingly, he thought. “Your skill and swiftness, your generosity and resolution, have carried the day! The Council of Knights will meet tomorrow to confirm my decision, and I would ask you to attend.”

  “I am deeply honoured,” murmured Gahmuret, “but your majesty must know, I have just received news of my brother’s death and I cannot express the joy that such news merits.” He did not mention the other difficulty he foresaw.

  “We shall meet tomorrow in the Great Hall,” she said. Such was her confusion at Gahmuret’s subdued reaction that she almost forgot to take proper leave and only just managed to acknowledge his bow.

  The candles flickered as the ladies rustled out, and Gahmuret sank back into his chair, in turmoil. He was deeply attracted to this modest queen, which only made his position more difficult. He brooded till far into the night but could see no way out of his entanglement.

  The queen was no less perplexed. This man had immediately impressed her, and she was absolutely convinced that he should be hers. Suddenly it was the most important thing in the world to marry him. She knew the conventions of royal marriages were complicated, but she could tell that he was interested. If she could at least win his heart…

  The following day Gahmuret presented himself before Queen Herzeleide and her Council of Knights, but the richness of his dress did little to cover the sadness of his mien, and many wondered why this should be. Had he not triumphed at the tournament, been praised by all and won a beautiful queen for his own? The queen opened the proceedings.

  “You must now answer,” she said, “for it is a loving heart I offer, and you must give me the satisfaction of yours, if you are to abide by the rules of my tournament.”

  She looked directly at him, challenging him to reject her. She saw he could not do it.

  Yet before Gahmuret could answer, the chaplain of Queen Anflise sprang to his feet. “My mistress has the prior claim!” he announced. “Gahmuret was her knight many years ago and this has never been revoked. He sent her many tokens of love, and she him. She is now dying of love for him and offers herself and her kingdom as his well-justified reward.” The whole hall stirred and murmured.

  “One moment!” It was Razalic who got to his feet. “Both these claims take no account of the fact that Gahmuret is already married to Queen Belacane of Zazamanc, whence he claims his title of king!”

  A buzz of concern and excitement rose up round the hall like a swarm of bees on a summer’s day. The assembled company looked from Herzeleide to Gahmuret, from Gahmuret to Razalic, from Razalic to the chaplain. At length, Gahmuret signalled to the assembly and silence fell on the hall.

  “My lords,” he said, “all this is true, and I confess I do not know how to live up to my ideals of knighthood and to satisfy these just claims. A decision must be made by your wisest councillors. I will abide by whatever they decide.”

  A murmur of approval went round the hall, and Herzeleide motioned for silence.

  “Indeed,” she said, “I solemnly charge my council to retire and make the decision, which I too will abide by.”

  All applauded this wise proposal and the council withdrew to consider, setting a time to reconvene. This gave plenty of time for discussion, and the hall seethed with controversy. There was much from the men on the importance of observing the proper rules, but the ladies had plenty to say too, and made sure they were listened to about the duties of a faithful husband and the rites of love. Finally the time was up, and the council, looking very solemn, came back and sat at the high table. The leader rose to his feet.

  “It is the unanimous view of this council, having considered everything in detail and at length, that the marriage of Gahmuret to Queen Belacane cannot be regarded as valid because of its pagan nature. Only Christian rites can be accepted in a Christian country. The claims of Queen Anflise, while they have some support in law, rest on a knightly vow made while she was married to another, and this vow has not been renewed on his decease. Accordingly, we regard the claim of Queen Herzeleide as the rightful one.”

  A great cheer went up. Gahmuret smiled for the first time since he came to Kanvoleis, and Queen Herzeleide’s heart raced and her eyes sparkled as he knelt in front of her and before the assembled company promised to be her faithful lord. Herzeleide could scarce contain her joy and smiled radiantly as the hall cheered and stamped.

  The news quickly spread round the city, and they found themselves in a whirlwind of preparations. When they finally managed to spend an hour in the orchard alone together, Gahmuret warned Herzeleide of his untiring pursuit of renown.

  “My queen,” said Gahmuret, “in honour of my dead brother, I shall take his device of the Panther on my shield. This is not only out of respect to him, but also because I have not achieved the steadfastness that my choice of the Anchor demanded. You must allow me to continue to attend tournaments and seek adventure, for these are what I live by.”

  Herzeleide readily assented. She recognised that Gahmuret could not be tied down, but she also knew he should be the father of her children. Allowing him to continue his adventures was a sacrifice she would have to make.

  Within the week, Mass was held and the banquet prepared. Rejoicing continued late into the night, and Gahmuret was filled with love for his bride, who loved him in return.

  Scarce two months had passed before Gahmuret announced his imminent departure. His old master, the Baruch of Baghdad, had requested his help: the Babylonians were in revolt and the Baruch was in desperate need. Within days Gahmuret was gone,
promising to return as soon as he could. But Herzeleide knew that many months would elapse before she would even hear from him.

  She occupied herself with her three kingdoms, Waleis, Anjou and Norgals, and she also discovered that a child was growing within her. Six long months went by and then disaster struck. One afternoon as she lay in her bed, as was her custom, she fell asleep, only to be visited by a dreadful nightmare. It seemed as though she was swept up into a powerful thunderstorm, the lightning flickering about her and thunder reverberating all around. Then a griffin grabbed her hand and next – oh horror! – she gave birth to a serpent, which turned into a dragon that suckled at her breast before flying away into the storm. She woke in terror, calling for her maids, who rushed to comfort her and soothe her brow. Scarcely had she recovered when she heard the sound of hooves in the courtyard, voices calling out and the scurrying of footsteps. Fear gripped her heart. Her husband’s squire, covered in dust from days of travel, boots muddied and scuffed, appeared at the door. She knew the worst.

  “He’s dead! I know he’s dead!” she cried, pale as her smock.

  The squire tried to regain his breath, but his silence told her enough.

  “How?”

  “At the height of the battle, as his valour drove the Baruch’s enemies back. His adamant and diamond helm had magic powers, and had always withstood the mightiest strokes, but some cursed magician, adept in the black arts, contrived to pour a he-goat’s blood on it, making it as soft as sponge. Little knowing, he rode into the thick of battle, and a lance split the helmet open, delivering the fatal wound. He only lived long enough to make his confession, and send you this token.”