The Legend of Parzival

by Robin Cook

  Parzival shrugged his shoulders before clasping Gawain in a firm embrace and wishing him luck.

  The battle with Parzival and his reunion with King Arthur and Queen Guinevere had occupied the rest of the day, and Gawain went off to get some much-needed rest. Parzival, however, before retiring betook himself to where his armour was hanging and made sure all was in order. His shield had taken a battering, and as he looked around he noticed another one standing nearby. “Probably one of Gawain’s,” he thought. “That’ll do nicely.”

  He retired to bed and got a few hours’ rest, and rose before the rest of the camp stirred. All was quiet. He saddled his war horse and donned his armour. It was a beautiful morning: there was a slight mist coming off the river and the sunlight sparkled on the dew-besprinkled leaves of the beech and oak that formed a broad passage to the jousting meadow. He came out of the trees onto the plain and, as he thought, there was Gramoflanz already measuring out the lists, making sure nothing would go wrong with the encounter this time.

  Parzival reined in his horse and put down his visor. At the distinctive sound Gramoflanz looked up and, never doubting for a moment that this was Gawain, called for his charger and mounted. He gestured with his lance before cantering to the far end of the meadow, where he wheeled his horse. With scarcely a moment to gather himself, he dug his spurs into the horse’s flanks and thundered across the plain. Ignoring the fact that the spectators had not arrived and that Itonje would not witness his undoubted victory, Gramoflanz, filled with battle fury, aimed his lance at the centre of Parzival’s shield. Nor was he put off when at the first strike his lance snapped into two useless fragments and he had to go back for another. After all, he was Gramoflanz, who normally fought and defeated two knights at a time.

  While this was going on, Gawain, who had only missed Parzival by a short period of time, was attending Mass. At the end of the service it was remarked that Parzival was nowhere to be seen, and Gawain, with no little foreboding, hastened to arm himself and make for the lists. There was a tense atmosphere of excitement and anticipation as he was joined by many others hurrying to the plain. What started as a brisk walk became a trot and then a canter as the sense spread that something extraordinary was happening. Men and women began to call out and jostle each other in their hurry, and it was an excited crowd that burst in on the scene.

  They came upon a mighty contest. By this time the lances had been discarded and the fight was taking place on foot, the two war horses looking on from a distance. There were cries of dismay from Gramoflanz’s entourage, for he was getting much the worst of it. These were soon joined by enthusiastic shouts from King Arthur’s men as they urged the champions on.

  Never had Gramoflanz faced such a whirlwind of blows. All his skill and agility seemed of no account and he was rapidly giving ground as his strength began to ebb under the rain of blows. How could a man wield a huge sword as though it was a wand? A final flurry of blows, striking sparks from his helm, brought Gramoflanz to his knees. Parzival stepped back to accept his submission, and then he raised his visor and grinned apologetically at Gawain, who rode up to join him. King Gramoflanz looked startled and annoyed as he gazed from one to the other. Gawain restrained a smile at the complete reversal of roles, but did not hesitate to offer Gramoflanz the opportunity to return to his camp, see to his bruises and wounds, and return the next day. It was only with the greatest difficulty that Gramoflanz contained his mighty anger at the situation. The only consolation was that Itonje had not witnessed any of this. He took his leave, much chastened but also resentful. He felt that somehow he had been tricked, although the defeat he had sustained smarted the most.

  As he cantered off, King Arthur arrived on the scene and quickly gathered what had occurred. He could not help remonstrating with Parzival. “Only yesterday Sir Gawain refused your request to fight on his behalf, yet here you are doing just that.”

  “That is true, but this is not only his quarrel – I have a part in it too.” He and Gawain exchanged a glance.

  “I know that,” added Gawain, “and I do have serious misgivings about this battle, but what is the alternative? I have to fight him now.”

  The three moved off together to make their way back to the camp and the discussion continued until it was interrupted by a messenger from Gramoflanz. In fact there were two messages: one for Arthur, begging him to make sure that it was Gawain and nobody else who came for the joust tomorrow, and a second that was supposed to be delivered discreetly to Bene, who would give it to Itonje.

  However, Itonje’s suspicions had already been aroused. Despite all Gawain’s efforts to keep her from finding out about his forthcoming joust with Gramoflanz, Itonje questioned Bene and soon all was revealed. It was more than Bene could do to keep such a secret from her beloved mistress. Tears were shed by both girls as they shared their feelings about the impossible situation. This was followed by a steely determination to do something about it, and Itonje went straight to Arnive. The contest had to be stopped, she explained, for either her brother or her husband-to-be would die. Arnive was a pragmatic woman and it did not take much to convince her that action had to be taken, so she took Itonje straight to King Arthur to demand that he take the matter in hand and find another solution.

  “This is a very difficult and complicated problem—” he began.

  “Yes, that is clear,” interjected Arnive, “but you are king and must find a way.”

  Arthur cleared his throat and looked out of the window. “How can I be sure of King Gramoflanz’s love for you?” he asked Itonje hesitantly.

  Itonje said nothing, only thrust out the letter she had just received from Gramoflanz.

  “Ah, yes… well,” murmured Arthur as he read its impassioned contents. “Hmm. And you love him equally?” Itonje fixed him with a penetrating look. “Yes. Of course. I have pledged myself to him.”

  “Even though you have never met?” Arthur was beginning to see a way out.

  “It is possible to love someone by their reputation, their deeds and their words,” she replied.

  “Yes. Of course.” Arthur turned to a squire. “Tell King Gramoflanz I have a matter of the utmost importance to discuss with him. Ask him to come and see me.” He turned to the two ladies. “I can only do so much. You must also do something. You, Itonje, must speak to the Duchess Orgeluse and persuade her to renounce her hatred of King Gramoflanz. When she is persuaded, bid her to come here to me.”

  A smile lit up Itonje’s pale features and she went off in search of Orgeluse, sure of her ability to persuade. After all, Orgeluse loved Gawain in a way she had loved no other man and would not want to be responsible for sending him to his death. As one woman to another, they would understand each other.

  Soon, the court assembled to meet King Gramoflanz, who arrived freshly arrayed in his most sumptuous garments. King Arthur got up and came down the steps to greet King Gramoflanz as an equal.

  “It is a great honour for me to receive you here in my court. We have a matter of the utmost gravity to decide.”

  “The honour is all mine,” replied Gramoflanz, bowing his head slightly.

  “I am told you love my close relation Itonje.”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Then can you tell me which is she?”

  Silence fell.

  King Gramoflanz looked at the groups of ladies, but he hardly hesitated. With the recognition that only true love can bestow, he went straight to Itonje and went down on one knee before her, bowing his head as he did so.

  A sussuration of joy went round the company.

  “Stand forth, Sir Gawain and the Duchess Orgeluse,” commanded Arthur.

  At the same time Itonje raised up Gramoflanz and said, “In accepting my love, you must renounce your desire to avenge your father’s death. Sir Gawain is my brother.”

  Even had Gramoflanz wanted to say something, there was no opportunity, because Orgeluse immediately stepped forward and announced: “I renounce my desire for revenge to be t
aken for Cidegast’s death. I release Gawain from his vow.” She turned and smiled bewitchingly at him.

  Gawain and Gramoflanz, both equally stunned by the turn of events, looked at each other, and then at the two women who stood gazing steadfastly at them.

  Gramoflanz broke the silence. “I, too, renounce my revenge, and greet you as a brother.”

  A great shout went up as the two men embraced. There were smiles and laughter all round, not least between King Arthur and Guinevere, who were delighted to have found a solution to the impasse. Queen Guinevere called for the marriages to take place as soon as possible. There was to be no time wasted and no expense spared and it was agreed there was no reason why they should not take place on the third day from then. The excitement and the commotion that this announcement generated consumed the camp from the lowliest pot-boy to the noblest lady, and no one could think of anything else – except for one person.

  Parzival was delighted that his friend Gawain was now not only the master of the Castle of Wonders but was to marry Orgeluse too, and he was equally happy that Itonje had been united with Gramoflanz. But, amidst all the preparations, he was strongly reminded of his own beautiful wife, the fair Condwiramur. He had been separated from her for so long and been faithful to her during all that time, and yet the Grail had still not been found. So, in the midst of all the rejoicings, Parzival quietly slipped away, armed himself, mounted his faithful charger, and made his way down to the river and into the forest.

  Chapter 15

  Little did Parzival realise that he was approaching the ultimate test of all his years of hardship and endurance. Ever since he had left Arthur’s court, after Cundrie la Sorciere had shamed him, he had learnt to accept whatever came to him. He had gradually developed calmness in the face of adversity as he became more and more sure that whatever he had to undertake, however difficult and demanding it was, all had its part to play in his search for the Grail. It was in this mood of acceptance that he entered the forest.

  For some time, the way was easy enough. The sun shone, slanting through the delicate greens of beech and oak, and as he plashed through the shallow streams or skirted the deeper depressions, where the land had once collapsed under the workings of some underground watercourse, he felt a presentiment that something extraordinary was going to happen.

  He was correct, for Destiny decreed he was about to encounter that which would determine the success or failure of his quest. Unknown to him, deep in the forest a mighty knight was making his way towards him: Feirefiz.

  For many years Feirefiz had devoted himself and his deeds to love, and to Queen Secundille. For his queen he had extended her lands, conquered many knights and kingdoms, and accumulated fabulous wealth. Now he was in search of a final adventure, and had set out for the West, bringing with him twenty-five armies from the lands he had conquered. To name a few, there were Moors, Saracens, Scythians, Turks, Arabs and Mongolians. All spoke different languages and fought in different ways. Some of the armies consisted entirely of skilled horsemen, others had ranks of archers capable of raining down storms of arrows, and there were highly trained foot soldiers who fought shield to shield and were never known to break ranks. All these Feirefiz had left at the shore to await his return. He himself was accoutred with weapons and armour of staggering richness. His surcoat was of the finest silk, woven with threads of gold, and his shield was studded with turquoise, emeralds and rubies. On his helmet was that legendary beast the ecidemon, from whom no poisonous serpent ever escaped.

  Thus it was that the two were drawn towards each other, and each caught sight of the other as they arrived simultaneously at the opposite ends of a broad clearing in the forest. Both reined in their horses, and there was no sound but the stamp of a hoof and a snort from Parzival’s charger as it shook its head, sensing the battle to come. The two knights circled the clearing, taking each other in. Parzival recognised all the trappings of a warrior from Eastern lands. Feirefiz immediately took him to be a Christian knight and was intrigued by his red armour. He had never fought a Christian knight before, and he relished the challenge.

  With no word exchanged, only the salutation of raised spears, they prepared to charge. The two horses thudded across the forest floor and the two knights came together with a clap like thunder. A flock of starlings wheeled into the air and fled away. Both held their seat and wheeled and charged again, with the same result. The third time, both spears were shattered and flung aside, and they set about each other with swords. The horses began to sweat and quiver with the intensity of their exertion and then the men dismounted and set about each other on foot. It was the first time for both of them that they had encountered such fierce and skilled resistance. As they fought it out, gradually they found slight weaknesses to exploit, and first one and then the other had to give way a little. Sparks flew as they struck each other glancing blows, and both shields were severely battered. They began to grunt and pant with the effort, encouraging themselves with cries of “Tabronit!” from Feirefiz and “Pelrepeire!” from Parzival.

  Then Parzival found himself staggering under a fierce series of blows that brought him to his knees. He was only just able to recover and then it was Feirefiz’s turn to be forced back with such a flurry of blows as he had never encountered. At the height of the exchange, Parzival saw his opportunity and brought his sword down on his opponent’s helmet with a force that would have felled any other man. Feirefiz staggered back, his head ringing, but the very force of the stroke caused the blade, the one Parzival had taken from Ither of Gaheviez, to snap. He leapt back, determined to fight on, but, to his surprise, his opponent stepped back too. He lowered his sword as he did so, and spoke.

  “A fine blow! I see you will fight to the end, but it is no glory to me to fight so noble an opponent as yourself when your sword is broken. Come, let us catch our breath.”

  Surprised and wary, but intrigued, Parzival lowered his shattered sword, and then, with a certain resignation, threw it to one side. Feirefiz, showing his honest intentions, threw his aside as well. They both sat down.

  “I have never fought such a contest,” continued Feirefiz, raising his visor as he spoke. “What is your name? Mine is Feirefiz the Angevin.”

  Parzival gazed in wonder at the mottled black and white skin, realising who he had been fighting. “The Angevin! I am from Anjou, and those castles and towns are mine. The only other person with a claim on them is the son of Gahmuret and Queen Belacane.”

  They looked at each other intently.

  “So you are…” began Feirefiz.

  “Parzival. And you are my brother, Feirefiz.”

  “I have always wanted to find you…”

  “I have heard of you, but never knew…”

  “Tell me about my father…”

  “It’s no wonder I could not defeat you!”

  Tears came to their eyes in recognition of the bond between them and the two battle-hardened warriors rose up and embraced. Then they sat together on the grassy bank and were soon talking as though they had always known each other.

  “Allah be praised!” said Feirefiz. “Though I always knew I had a brother, I did not know how I could ever find him. Tell me about my father – I never knew him. My mother died for love of him. They say he was a mighty warrior.”

  “Yes, indeed, but like you I have only hearsay to go on, as he died before I was born. They say he was killed traitorously before the walls of Babylon, fighting for the Baruch of Baghdad. My mother died too – but that was after I left her in the forest. I was a rash and selfish young man.”

  “But at least we have found each other,” said Feirefiz, “and to show my gratitude I want to give you the kingdoms of Zazamanc and Azagouc. Our father won them when he won my mother.”

  “I can only admire your generosity. I have never met such a rare knight. Let me take you to the court of King Arthur. He will be honoured to receive you.”

  “King Arthur! That would be something indeed. I have heard much of his Roun
d Table – and the many beauteous ladies at his court.”

  “They are justly famed. Their loveliness is unequalled.”

  “But shall I also meet relatives? I long to know more of my father’s family.”

  “Yes, of course, and many of them are kings or queens. But what of your retinue?”

  Feirefiz smiled. “Ah, my retinue as you call it. I have twenty-five armies in attendance and they will await my return. They are well supplied and they always obey my orders to the letter. There is time for me to visit King Arthur first.”

  They got up and went over to where their horses were quietly cropping the turf under a stately elm, then mounted and set off back through the forest, deep in conversation. There was much to talk about, as they knew each other by repute, but both were eager to hear more detail of their exploits, and both marvelled at the manner in which they had been brought together.

  Back at the camp, news had already arrived of the battle that had taken place. After discovering Parzival’s departure, Arthur had decided to wait for a week in case he returned. However, very soon a messenger came from the Castle of Wonders to tell Gawain that Parzival had been seen in combat in the reflection of Klingsor’s magical pillar. At that moment, Parzival and Feirefiz were seen approaching the camp.

  Gawain immediately went out to meet them and took them to his pavilion, where they could get out of their battered armour and he could supply them with fresh clothing. When they reappeared, all marvelled at the richness of Feirefiz’s jewel-studded surcoat and his strange, mottled complexion. All noticed the imposing nobility of his bearing, which added to the excitement caused by his exotic appearance.

  “Report was brought to me from my castle,” said Gawain, “but no one knew who Parzival’s opponent could be.”

  “And then we discovered we were long-lost brothers,” said Feirefiz, beaming broadly. “It was as though I had been fighting myself!” He laughed and slapped Parzival on the back. Parzival smiled at his infectious enthusiasm.