by Robin Cook
There was a great commotion as the news travelled through the camp, and young Sir Segramour hurried to King Arthur to claim the right to go out and challenge the knight. Having received permission, he was soon dashing impetuously into the woods, swerving through the undergrowth and jumping fallen trees until he saw the knight, motionless in the glade.
“Who are you? What do you want?” he shouted. But, to his annoyance, the knight took no notice. “If you don’t answer, I will charge you!” he called. He couched his spear and called out one more time, “I gave you warning! Meet my attack!”
It was only when he brought down his visor, making that unmistakeable sound of metal upon metal, that Parzival looked up. He turned quickly, deflected the lance and struck his opponent in the chest. The lance he had taken from Trevrezent’s cell served him well, and poor young Segramour found himself sprawling on the ground, his horse galloping off towards of the camp. He struggled to his feet to see the stranger knight turning away from him as though he no longer existed, leaving him to limp back to the encampment.
Segramour was a sorry sight as he came back, horseless and humiliated, and this occasioned remarks about his youth and impetuosity. Still, the matter, as he recounted it, was definitely odd, and Sir Kay begged to leave to go.
“Sir Segramour did not have the experience for this, my lord. I am sure that when this stranger knight sees my coat of arms he will come quietly enough. Let me challenge him.”
King Arthur gave his permission and soon Sir Kay was riding boldly into the wood. Again, when challenged, Parzival made no answer, for he had returned to his reverie. Sir Kay was mightily offended at being so ignored and came right up to him.
“Listen! I’m talking to you,” he said. When that made no difference, he pushed him. It was not so much the push as the fact that it caused his horse’s head to move, obscuring the drops of blood, that took Parzival out of his trance again. He turned, suddenly irritated and aggressive, and snapped his visor down. Sir Kay hastily backed off to make room for a charge.
They galloped at each other, kicking up lumps of snow and clods of earth, and Sir Kay was hit with such force that he was flung yards off his horse and landed on a fallen tree, breaking his right arm and his left leg. His horse breathed its last, impaled on a broken branch.
It was fortunate that a number of squires had followed to see the encounter, and they hurried to help Kay onto a mule and take him back, glancing nervously all the while at this strange knight, who seemed no longer interested in the fight. Parzival returned to his trance of love, trying to penetrate the secrets that seemed so near to being revealed.
There was much ado around King Arthur. Who could this knight be? Although Sir Kay might not be the most popular knight, he scarcely deserved such humiliation. Many crowded round him to offer their sympathy and find out more about the encounter. Sir Gawain was amongst those, but Sir Kay, ever short of social graces, rebuffed him rudely, suggesting he might try fighting the stranger himself. Sir Gawain did not take offence but said quietly, “I think I will go have a look for myself.” He went out and mounted his horse but took neither sword nor shield, as his intuition told him this was not going to be solved by force.
He soon found Parzival and marvelled at his intent posture. He approached him quietly and said, “You don’t answer any challenges, and you must know this is seen as an insult to King Arthur. An armed knight so close to his camp is bound to be challenged. You have unhorsed two knights without a word of explanation. Come with me, and we can go to King Arthur and I will persuade him to pardon you.”
Silence.
Parzival took no notice, although Gawain thought he saw a flicker of interest when Arthur was mentioned. It was as though Gawain was not there. He noticed that the knight’s gaze was fixed on the drops of blood in the snow, and then a thought a came to him: “The man’s in love!” Taking a length of yellow silk from inside his tunic, he dismounted, placed it over the drops of blood, and looked up at Parzival. It was as though Parzival awoke from a dream. He looked at Gawain, first uncomprehendingly and then more critically.
“Alas! I miss my lady and my wife. I did so much to win her, and now I am far away and know not where I should go. Where’s my spear?” he asked, as though only just noticing his condition.
“You broke it, jousting.”
“Jousting? Who with?”
“Two knights who came to challenge you.”
“Why are you unarmed?”
“I come in friendship. To find out who you are. My king is camped nearby; let me take you to him.”
“Thank you for your kind words – but who is this king and, indeed, who are you?”
“The king is Arthur, my uncle, and my father is King Lot, and I am Gawain.”
“Gawain!” A great smile spread across Parzival’s face. He got off his horse and took Gawain warmly by the arm. “I have heard much of your kindness and have longed to meet you. I am Parzival. And King Arthur! It is my life’s ambition to join the Round Table. I have done my best to make good the offence done to Cunneware when Sir Kay beat her for smiling at me.”
“I think you will find you have achieved that. Look at shattered remnants of your spear, which you used to unhorse Sir Kay. He broke an arm and a leg.”
“I did that?”
Gawain couldn’t help but smile. “Yes. And you felled Sir Segramour and sent him limping home.”
“Really?” Parzival smiled ruefully. “That’s strange – I really must notice what I’m doing a bit more!” The two grinned and laughed at each other. “The fact is, I do remember being attacked, but I was in a sort of trance. I don’t know what happened – I could only think of my love for Condwiramur. She’s my wife, and, yes, I do have a dim memory of being… interrupted.”
“King Arthur will be pleased to see you. He’s had knights out searching for some time. Your reputation has spread far. Come, let us go.”
So the two rode together, chatting and laughing together like old friends. When they entered the camp the waiting knights were astonished to see the easy relationship between them. Here at last was the Red Knight who had been so eagerly sought, and it was a pleasure to Gawain to introduce him to all his friends. Soon they arrived at the pavilion of the Lady Cunneware, who thanked him for all he had done to recompense her for the injury she had received. She took him to where he could wash and gave him bright new clothes, a cloak of emerald green, and a belt embroidered with animals and precious stones. Parzival enjoyed all this immensely. He felt as if he had come home, and his noble countenance shone with beauty and grace.
King Arthur greeted Parzival with the greatest joy and immediately ordered preparations to be made to install him as a Knight of the Round Table. An enormous round cloth of silk was laid out in a space between the pavilions and chairs were placed round it. Queen Guinevere and many ladies welcomed Parzival. When all the noblest knights had taken their places around the circle, silence fell as Arthur called for a trumpet blast to begin the ceremony.
At that moment, an extraordinary figure appeared from between the pavilions. It was a lady riding a mule, but such a foul, bedraggled old mule as you never saw, although the bridle and saddle were clearly very costly. She herself was richly dressed in silk, with a cape embroidered with lapis lazuli and a hat trimmed with peacock feathers and lined with cloth-of-gold. But her face! Her nose looked like a dog’s, her ears like a bear’s, and two of her teeth stuck out like a boar’s tusks. Her bushy eyebrows were plaited to keep them out of her eyes, and her hair was thick and coarse. Her hands, which were holding a whip with thongs of silk, were like a monkey’s and the claw-like nails were long and curved.
Breaking the intense silence, someone whispered, “It’s Cundrie la Sorciere – the Grail Messenger! What brings her now?”
“Arthur!” Her voice grated harshly, but had great power. “Son of Uther Pendragon! What shame is this you bring to the Round Table?”
“What can you mean?” replied Arthur. “My knights are the n
oblest in Christendom.”
“I mean him!” She pointed a long, ugly finger at Parzival. “He brings shame on you. He has the outward appearance of a knight, but his heart is as false as gamblers’ oaths. He is the reason I cannot give you a proper greeting.” She turned and fixed Parzival with an icy glare. “You think I look ugly, but I am not such a monster as you. Yes, you who were taken in by the Fisher King and showed no concern for his suffering. You who were given a sword of which you are not worthy. You who saw the Grail carried before you, with the silver knives and the bleeding spear, and yet asked no question. You who had been so eagerly awaited but showed no compassion when it mattered most. I tell you, you have a brother, the peerless Feirefiz, whose mother is the queen of Zazamanc and whose skin is mottled black and white – he is far your superior. How your father would be ashamed at what you have done to his name. Your poor mother would weep if she knew what has come to pass.”
She paused and looked round. Parzival stood, hanging his head. Two large tears ran down Cundrie’s face, the only indication of her own woe at the message she brought. The mule shifted under her, and she turned to Arthur and continued, quietly and firmly. “You cannot accept this man into your company. He must leave.” Silence fell.
Then she broke the spell by announcing, “Now I bring your knights a task. In the Castle of Wonders, four queens and four hundred maidens lie imprisoned by a wicked enchanter. They must be released and his power broken. Though the journey is far, the castle is easy to find, and I shall be there.” She moved to go, sighing, “Alas, for Montsalvaesche, that there is no comfort there.”
They all watched as she made her way slowly through the pavilions and disappeared into the woods beyond.
Cunneware, her eyes bright with tears, went to offer solace to poor Parzival, his dream of joining the Round Table shattered. It seemed like the greatest punishment of his life. “Why me?” he thought. “I have always done my best. I have striven to do what is right, struggled to correct my errors and aimed for the highest honour. How was I to know what to do in the Grail castle? How could I know I had been called? This makes no sense. And to be humiliated in front of the people I admire most…”
Slowly he gathered himself together as others crowded round to offer their sympathy. Sir Gawain put his arm round Parzival’s shoulder in silent understanding.
“Come, Parzival, this is not the end. Tell you what—” But Gawain got no further, for he was interrupted by a loud shout.
“Where are Arthur and Gawain?” A new knight shouldered his way through the throng. He looked boldly round, nodded to Arthur, and went on. “My name is Kingrimursel and I come to demand justice! Sir Gawain has killed my lord and master, and in a most shameful way. Just as they were exchanging greetings, Gawain treacherously stabbed him. I demand that Gawain meet me in combat before the king of Ascalon in the city of Schamfanzun, forty days from today. Good faith and a sense of shame are what brings honour to the Round Table, and you, Sir Gawain, have neither.”
Again, silence settled on the company. Gawain was not a man to behave like that. What would King Arthur say? After moment’s thought, he spoke, attempting to pacify the knight. “Kingrimursel, I know you well for a noble knight. But how can this be? Gawain is my own dear nephew, and I would gladly go in his place if he were not here to answer the challenge himself. This must be some mistake—”
Kingrimursel broke in harshly. “There’s no mistake.”
“So you say,” rejoined Gawain, stepping firmly towards him. “Let me tell you, I do not like to fight for no good reason, but this is slander. I accept your challenge.”
“I promise you safe conduct through all of Ascalon and will await you.” And with that, Kingrimursel bowed courteously to the king and queen and smartly took his leave.
He had hardly left the circle before loud conversations broke out. There was outrage at this false accusation, surprise and wonder at the treatment of Parzival, and a hubbub of oaths as the knights vied to support the two knights in any way they could. At the same time, many also wanted to set off to find the Castle of Wonders.
King Arthur drew Gawain and Parzival to one side. “This has indeed taken a sad turn,” he began, but Parzival shrugged his shoulders and interrupted.
“My king, I have received a harsh judgement. I am resolved to continue my search for the Grail. There is no other course open to me. I was fortunate enough to see the wonders of the Grail, yet I failed Anfortas at the crucial moment. I must make myself worthy enough to be called a second time. That is all.”
King Arthur shook him solemnly by the hand and Cunneware kissed him on the cheek. Sir Gawain smiled and embraced him. “That’s the hard path: I admire your determination. We must part for now, but you will be ever in my thoughts. We will both face great dangers and will be tested to the utmost. May God help and protect you.”
“God!” snorted Parzival. “What use is God? If he is as powerful as we have been taught, why are we both in these undeserving situations? What have you done? What have I done? I tried to serve him and look where it got me.” There was passion and distress in Parzival’s voice. “I tell you, when the time comes to fight you are better putting your trust in the love of a woman. That is more likely to be the shield you need.”
“You are a brave man and an honest one,” said Gawain.
“I am glad of your friendship,” replied Parzival.
With that, the two men, with quiet efficiency and purpose, mounted their horses and set off away from the camp, their paths diverging as they reached the forest. Many others set off for the Castle of Wonders, and the company of the Round Table was broken up.
Chapter 7
Sir Gawain travelled for some days in the direction of Ascalon and was coming out of a forest and making his way down a narrow valley when he saw a large body of men on the move. Gawain glanced around and saw there was no avoiding meeting them. He leaned forward, patted the neck of his horse – his favourite, Gringuljete, pure white with delicate red ears, and a Grail horse from Montsalvaesche too – and moved to a small hillock next to the road. He saw armed men followed by a large baggage train and the normal merchants with their laden mules, yet he did not recognise any of the banners. Gawain noticed a squire trying to make his way towards the front and hailed him.
“Young man! Can you tell me whose this army is and where it is going?”
The squire looked very surprised. “You mean to say you don’t know? This is the army of King Meljanz of Liz.”
“What is his quarrel?”
“It’s complicated,” replied the squire. “You see, Meljanz was only a lad when his father died, and his vassal, Duke Lippaut, agreed to bring him up until he was of age. This he did, along with his own daughters, Obie and little Obilot. Well, Obie grew into a beautiful, if rather arrogant, princess. When Meljanz assumed his father’s throne he proclaimed his love for her, but she turned him down. Meljanz was very angry and reminded her father Duke Lippaut that he was his vassal and should be grateful that a king was interested in his daughter, but there was no changing Obie’s mind. She told Meljanz she was not to be bought for the price of a fiefdom. She demanded that he woo her in proper fashion and not simply expect her to accede because her father was his vassal, and Meljamz went off in high dudgeon. Now he is going to lay siege to Bearosche, which Duke Lippaut defends, although it goes against the grain with him to take arms against his feudal lord.”
Gawain thanked him for the explanation and considered what he should do. He was torn between keeping straight on to his meeting with Kingrimursel and pausing to involve himself in this complex situation. He watched the long stream of men and horses, which blocked the track for miles, and decided to go with it rather than against it. In practical terms it was the easiest thing to do, and who knew, perhaps he could help bring about a happy resolution. With that thought, he turned his horse’s head towards Bearosche.
After a long ride, the army arrived at the city, which was beautifully situated on a bend in the
river with a well-built castle dominating the plain. Amid fluttering pennants and flags, Meljanz’s army was busy setting up camp. Gawain threaded his way through the throng and made his way to the city gate. Perhaps he could find out more about Duke Lippaut and Obie and see whether the situation could be resolved without bloodshed. However, when he arrived the gate was firmly shut and it was clear the inhabitants had no intention of opening it. Just as Gawain was turning away to find a place to camp, he realised that a number of ladies were looking down at him. He looked up and guessed that these were the duchess, wife of Duke Lippaut, with her daughters, Obie and Obilot, come to watch the preparations. They looked down on him and Gawain could hear some of their conversation.
“Who is that, do you think?” said the duchess.
“He looks like some sort of merchant,” replied Obie disdainfully.
“Surely he is a knight with his soldiers?”
“I expect he is hoping to sell something,” went on Obie, scornfully. “I think he just wants us to think he is a knight. He is a merchant. He’s busy unpacking his wares, hoping to do some trade.”