But I have been talking of my own affairs. Now hear how Arthur’s tent-ring could be told apart from the others. Matchless in their abundant gaiety, his retainers feasted in his presence: many a noble man slow to do à base deed, many a proud young lady who took jousts for arrows and shot their admirers at the enemy! And if their knights had a bad time of it whilst fighting, maybe the ladies found it in their hearts to make a kind return.
Young Clamide rode to the middle of the ring. A barded horse, a steel-cased body were suddenly before the Queen’s eyes, then his helmet and shield, hacked to pieces. Then all the ladies saw it. This was how Clamide came to court. You have already heard how he had no choice in the matter. He dismounted and was much jostled by the curious throng before he came to where Cunneware de Lalant was sitting.
‘Madam, are you the lady whom I must willingly serve?’ he asked. ‘I do so under compulsion – in part. The Red Knight sends you his humble compliments. You have his entire sympathy for the wrong that was done to you, and he further asks Arthur to make common cause with him. You were beaten because of him, were you not? My lady, I bring you my submission as commanded by him who fought with me and shall gladly honour it, if it be your wish. I was under threat of death.’
Lady Cunneware de Lalant grasped his gauntleted hand in the presence of Lady Ginover, who was sharing a platter apart from the King’s. Keie was standing by the table and heard what had been said. It gave him a perceptible shock, which delighted Lady Cunneware.
‘What this man has done concerning you, madam, he was forced to do,’ said Keie. ‘Nevertheless, someone has been imposing on him. I did what I did for the sake of courtly standards and with intent to improve your manners, for which I now suffer your ill will. However, I would advise you to have this captive unarmed. He may be bored with standing here.’
The proud young lady asked them to remove his helmet and coif, and when the one had been unlaced and the other peeled off, Clamide was quickly recognized. Kingrun darted looks of dawning recognition at him and began wringing his hands so that they snapped like dry billets. Clamide’s Seneschal quickly thrust the table aside and asked his lord what had happened. He found him utterly desolate.
‘I was born unfortunate,’ cried Clamide. ‘I have lost so fine an army that no mother ever gave suck to any man who knew a greater loss! But the loss of my army is as nothing to this: my anguish for the love which I forego so weighs me down that joy and high spirits are now strangers to me. I am growing grey for Condwiramurs! Whatever the punishment their Maker has in store for Pontius Pilate and that wretched Judas who joined the traitors with a kiss when Jesus was betrayed, I would accept their torment if only the lady of Brobarz were my wife by her consent, and I could hold her in my arms – come what might thereafter! But her love, alas, is beyond the reach of the King of Iserterre! My land and people of Brandigan must forever rue it. (My paternal cousin Mabonagrin suffered there too long!*) And now, King Arthur, compelled by a knight to do so, I have ridden to your house. You are well aware that in my country much dishonour has been done to you. Overlook it now, noble man, as long as I stay here captive! Exempt me from any displeasure it may have caused. Cunneware too, who accepted my submission when I came to her a prisoner, must also shield me from reprisal.’
Good-natured Arthur at once pronounced a pardon for those wrongs.
All got to hear, men and women alike, that the King of Brandigan had ridden to that ring. ‘Come on, now, shove, shove!’ – The news went round in a trice. Unhappy Clamide politely asked for a companion. ‘Please commend me to Gawan, madam, if I am worthy. I know that for his part he will be willing. If he does as you ask he would honour both you and the Red Knight.’ Arthur requested his nephew to give the king his company, but this would have happened in any case. Then the noble Household warmly welcomed Clamide, honourable in his defeat.
‘How lamentable that any Briton should ever see you captive in his own house,’ said Kingrun to Clamide. ‘You were mightier than Arthur, both in men and revenues, and you had the advantage of youth. Is Arthur now to reap the glory because Keie in his anger struck a noble princess when she, divining it in her heart, laughed, and so chose the man who is held in all truth to be the most illustrious of all? The Britons flatter themselves they have set up their laurels very high. Yet it happened without effort on their part that the King of Cucumerlant was sent back dead, and that my lord, who fought a duel with that other, owned himself beaten. This same knight overcame me too without recourse to stealth or trickery – you could see the fire leap from helmets and swords spin round in hands!’
High and low, they all agreed that Keie had misbehaved. But let us leave this and return to where we were.
The devastated land in which Parzival wore crown was made inhabitable, happiness and rejoicing were seen in it again. His father-in-law Tampenteire had left him bright jewels and ruddy gold, and these he doled out so generously that it won his people’s hearts. His land was decked out with many pennants and new shields. He and his men rode many tournaments. Fearless young knight, he showed his mettle on his border, where his exploits against intruders were judged the best.
Now hear about the Queen. What more could she wish for to make her happy? The sweet young noble woman had all that heart can desire here on earth. Her love was so strong, there was no lodgement in it for infidelity. She knew her man as true. Each found it in the other. He was as dear to her as she to him. When I take the passage in hand which says they must part, their loss can only mount. I am moved to pity for that noble lady. He had delivered her land, her people and herself from great distress, in return for which she had offered him her love.
One morning he said (and many knights heard and saw it) ‘If it is your wish, Ma’am, I ask leave to go and see how my mother fares. I do not know at all whether she is well or ill. I should like to go there for a short while – and also in search of adventure. If I achieve much in your service your noble love requires it.’ In such terms did he ask leave to go. She loved him, so the story says, there was nothing she would deny him. He rode away from all his vassals with none for company.
Chapter 5
WHOEVER cares to hear where the knight is arriving whom Dame Adventure sent on his travels, can now take note of marvels unparalleled. Let the son of Gahmuret ride on. True-hearted people everywhere will wish him luck, since he is destined now to suffer great anguish, but at times also honour and joy. One thing was distressing him - that he was far from the woman than whom none was ever said by book or tale to have been more virtuous or fairer. Thoughts of the Queen began to unsettle his wits, and had he not been a stout-hearted man he must have lost them quite. His charger trailed his reins impetuously through bog and over fallen trees, for no man’s hand was guiding it. The tale informs us that a bird would have been hard put to it to fly the distance he rode that day. Unless my source has deceived me, the journey he made on the day when he killed Ither with his javelin, and later when he reached the land of Brobarz from Graharz, was shorter by far.
Would you now like to hear how he is faring?
In the evening he came to a lake. Some sportsmen whose lake it was had anchored there. When they saw him ride up they were near enough to the shore to hear anything he said. One of those he saw in the boat was wearing clothes of such quality that had he been lord of the whole earth they could not have been finer. His hat was of peacock’s feathers and lined inside. Parzival asked the Angler in God’s name and of his courtesy to tell him where he could seek shelter for the night, and thus did that man of sorrows answer: ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I know of no habitation beside the lake or inland for thirty miles. Nearby stands a lone mansion. I urge you to go there. What other place could you reach before nightfall? After passing the rock-face, turn right. When you come up to the moat, where I suspect you will have to halt, ask them to lower the drawbridge and open up the road to you.’
He accepted the Angler’s advice and took his leave. ‘If you do find the right way there,’ added the Ang
ler, ‘I shall take care of you myself this evening: then suit your thanks to the entertainment you will have received. Take care – some tracks lead to unknown country, you could miss your path on the mountainside, and I would not wish that to happen to you.’
Parzival set off and moved into a brisk trot along the right path as far as the moat. There he found the drawbridge raised. Nothing had been spared to make an impregnable stronghold: it stood smooth and rounded as though from a lathe. Unless attackers were to come on wings or be blown there by the wind, no assault could harm it. Clusters of towers and numerous palaces stood there marvellously embattled. Had all the armies in the world assailed it, the hurt they would have inflicted would not have ruffled the defenders once in thirty years.
A page attended to asking him what he wanted and where he had journeyed from.
‘The Angler sent me here,’ he answered. ‘I thanked him in the hope of finding bare shelter for the night. He asked for the drawbridge to be lowered and told me to ride in to you.’
‘Seeing that it was the Angler who said so, you are welcome, sir!’ said the page. ‘You shall be honoured and have comfortable quarters for the sake of the man who sent you here.’ And he let down the drawbridge.
The bold knight rode into the fortress and on to a spacious courtyard. Its green lawn had not been trampled down in chivalric sport, for there was no vying at the bohort there, jousters never rode over it with pennants flying as they do over the meadow at Abenberg.* Zestful deeds had not been done there for many a day, for they had come to know heartfelt grief.
Parzival was not made to feel this in any way. He was welcomed by knights young and old. A crowd of very young gentlemen ran forward to take his bridle, each trying to seize it first. They held his stirrup, so down he had to come from his horse. Knights invited him to step forward and they then conducted him to his room. They unarmed him swiftly but decorously, and when they set eyes on the beardless young man and saw how charming he was, they declared him rich in Fortune’s favours.
The young man asked for water and had soon washed the rusty grime from hands and face, with the result that it seemed to them as though another day were dawning from him, with such refulgence did he sit there, the perfect image of a handsome young consort.
They brought him a cloak of cloth-of-gold of Araby, which the good-looking fellow put on – not lacing it to – which earned him many compliments.
‘My lady the Princess Repanse de Schoye was wearing it,’ said the discreet Master of the Wardrobe. ‘It is lent to you from off her person, for as yet no clothes have been cut for you. I could decently ask it of her since, if I judge you correctly, you are a man of worth.’
‘May God reward you, sir, for saying so. If you have judged me rightly I am indeed fortunate. The power of God bestows such reward.’
They filled his cup and entertained him in such a way that despite their grief they shared his pleasure. They treated him with honour and esteem. And indeed there was greater store of meat and drink there than he found at Belrepeire before delivering it from its plight.
They took his equipment away, a thing he was soon to regret when a prank took him unawares. For a man deft in speech summoned our mettlesome guest to court to join his host over-freely, with a show of anger, and for this almost lost his life at the hands of young Parzival. Not finding his splendid sword there, Parzival clenched his fist so hard that the blood shot through his nails and splashed his sleeve.
‘Hold, sir!’ cried the knights. ‘This man is licensed to jest, however dismal we may be. Bear with him, as a gentleman. – You were merely meant to understand that the Angler is here. Go and join him – he esteems you a noble guest – and shake off your load of anger.’
They mounted the stairs to a hall where a hundred chandeliers were hanging with many candles set upon them high over the heads of the company, and with candle-dips round its walls. On the floor he saw a hundred couches with as many quilts laid over them, furnished by those who had that duty, each seating four companions and with spaces in between and a round carpet before it. King Frimutel’s son could well afford it. One thing was not omitted there: they had not thought it too extravagant to have three square andirons in marble masonry on which was the element of fire burning wood of aloes. Here at Wildenberg* none ever saw such great fires at any time. Those† were magnificent pieces of workmanship!
The lord of the castle had himself seated on a sling-bed over against the middle of the fireplace. He and happiness had settled accounts with each other, he was more dead than alive. Parzival with his radiant looks now entered the hall and was well received by him who had sent him there – his host did not keep him standing but bade him approach and be seated ‘… close beside me. Were I to seat you a way off it would be treating you too much as a stranger!’ Such were this sorrowful lord’s words.
Because of his ailment his lordship maintained great fires and wore warm clothes of ample cut, with sable both outside and in the lining both of his pellice and the cloak above it. Its meanest fur would have been highly prized, being of the black-with-grey variety. On his head he wore a covering of that same fur, sable bought at great price, doubled upon itself. Around its top it had an Arabian orphrey, and at the centre a button of translucent ruby.
A great company of grave knights were sitting where they were presented with a sad spectacle. A page ran in at the door, bearing – this rite was to evoke grief – a Lance from whose keen steel blood issued and then ran down the shaft to his hand and all but reached his sleeve.
At this there was weeping and wailing throughout that spacious hall, the inhabitants of thirty lands could not have wrung such a flood from their eyes. The page carried the Lance round the four walls back to the door and then ran out again, whereupon the pain was assuaged that had been prompted by the sorrow those people had been reminded of.
If it will not weary you I will set about taking you to where service was rendered with all due ceremony.
At the far end of the Palace a steel door was thrown open. Through it’came a pair of noble maidens such – now let me run over their appearances for you – that to any who had deserved it of them they would have made Love’s payment in full, such dazzling young ladies were they. For head-dress each wore a garland of flowers over her hair and no other covering, and each bore a golden candelabra. Their long flaxen hair fell in locks, and the lights they were carrying were dazzling-bright. But let us not pass over the gowns those young ladies made their entry in! The gown of the Countess of Tenabroc was of fine brown scarlet, as was that of her companion, and they were gathered together above the hips and firmly clasped by girdles round their waists.
Then there came a duchess and her companion, carrying two trestles of ivory. Their lips glowed red as fire. All four inclined their heads, and then the two set up their trestles before then lord. They stood there together in a group, one as lovely as the other, and gave him unstinting service. All four were dressed alike.
But see, four more pairs of ladies have not missed their cue! Their function was that four were to carry large candles whilst the other four were to apply themselves to bringing in a precious stone through which the sun could shine by day. Here is the name it was known by – it was a garnet-hyacinth! Very long and broad it was, and the man who had measured it for a table-top had cut it thin to make it light. The lord of this castle dined at it as a mark of opulence. With an inclination of their heads all eight maidens advanced in due order into their lord’s presence, then four placed the table on the trestles of snow-white ivory that had preceded it, and decorously returned to stand beside the first four. These eight ladies were wearing robes of samite of Azagouc greener than grass, of ample cut for length and breadth, and held together at their middles by long narrow girdles of price. Each of these modest young ladies wore a dainty garland of flowers above her hair.
The daughters of Counts Iwan of Nonel and Jernis of Ryl had been taken many a mile to serve there, and now these two princely ladies were seen adv
ancing in ravishing gowns! They carried a pair of knives keen as fish-spines, on napkins, one apiece, most remarkable objects. – They were of hard white silver, ingeniously fashioned, and whetted to an edge that would have cut through steel! Noble ladies who had been summoned to serve there went before the silver, four faultless maidens, and bore a light for it. And so all six came on.
Now hear what each of them does. They inclined their heads. Then two carried the silver to the handsome table and set it down, and at once returned most decorously to the first twelve, so that if I have totted it up correctly we should now have eighteen ladies standing there.
Just look! You can now see another six advancing in sumptuous gowns, half cloth-of-gold, half brocade of Niniveh. These and the former six already mentioned were wearing their twelve gowns cut parti-wise, of stuffs that had cost a fortune.
After these came the Princess. Her face shed such refulgence that all imagined it was sunrise. This maiden was seen wearing brocade of Araby. Upon a green achmardi she bore the consummation of heart’s desire, its root and its blossoming – a thing called ‘The Gral’, paradisal, transcending all earthly perfection! She whom the Gral suffered to carry itself had the name of Repanse de Schoye. Such was the nature of the Gral that she who had the care of it was required to be of perfect chastity and to have renounced all things false.
Lights moved in before the Gral – no mean lights they, but six fine slender vials of purest glass in which balsam was burning brightly. When the young ladies who were carrying the vials with balsam had come forward to the right distance, the Princess courteously inclined her head and they theirs. The faithful Princess then set the Gral before his lordship. (This tale declares that Parzival gazed and pondered on that lady intently who had brought in the Gral, and well he might, since it was her cloak that he was wearing.) Thereupon the seven went and rejoined the first eighteen with all decorum. They then opened their ranks to admit her who was noblest, making twelve on either side of her, as I am told. Standing there, the maiden with the crown made a most elegant picture.
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