My skill does not give me the wit to narrate this battle as it happened in all detail.
The eyes of each lit up on seeing die other approaching. The hearts of each rejoiced, yet sorrow lurked there unseen. Each of these unblemished men bore the other’s heart within him – theirs was an intimate strangeness!
Now I cannot keep this Infidel from the Christian and prevent them from coming to blows. This ought to sadden all who are known to be good women. For each of these men was exposing his life to fierce attack for his mistress’s sake. May Fortune settle it without loss of life!
The Lioness bears her cub stillborn, it is roused to life by its father’s roars. These two were scions of crackling lances – picked from prowess in countless jousts! They were indeed no mean jousters, to the cost of the lances they squandered. From a free canter they shortened rein and, beginning their charge, were intent not to miss their marks. No point of their routine was overlooked: they took a firm seat in the saddle, shaped themselves to the joust and gripped their mounts between their spurs. They rode their encounter with this outcome: the collars of both were severed by stout lances which did not bend, so that splinters flew up from the shock. The Infidel was incensed that this man had kept his seat opposite him, since Parzival was the first to have done so of all he had ever engaged with. ‘Were they wearing swords of any sort when they spurred towards each other?’ Keen ones, and very broad. Their skill and courage were soon displayed there. The Ecidemon creature received no few wounds, giving the helmet beneath it good cause to lament! Their chargers grew hot and weary, for their riders sought advantage by wheeling and wheeling. Thus both leapt down from their mounts, and now their swords rang out in earnest.
The Infidel did much hurt to the Christian. His war-cry was ‘Thasme!’, and when he shouted ‘Thabronit!’ he advanced one step. The Christian was formidable in the many swift rushes they made at one another. Their battle had reached a point at which I cannot withhold the comment that I deeply deplore their fighting, in that one and the same life and blood are so unmercifully attacking one another. When all is said, they were sons of one father, bedrock of purest loyalty.
The Infidel had always been open to Love and was thus great-hearted in battle. He aspired to win renown for the sake of Queen Secundille, who had given him the land at Tribalibot. She was his shield in peril. The Infidel was gaining the upper hand: what am I to do with the Christian? Unless he turns his thoughts towards Love, the outcome will inevitably be that this battle will gain him death at this Infidel’s hands. – Prevent this, O potent Gral, and radiant Condwiramurs! The man who serves you both stands here in the greatest peril he ever knew!
The Infidel threw his sword high up, a rain of blows forced Parzival to his knees. Whoever wishes to name them ‘two’ is entitled to say ‘Thus did they fight.’ Yet they were no more than one. Any brother of mine and I make one person, as do a good man and his good wife.
The Infidel did much hurt to the Christian. His shield was of a wood called asbestos, which neither rots nor burns. Rest assured, he was loved by her that gave it. All round the boss, there were inlaid in the metal of its flanges turquoises, chryso-prases, emeralds and rubies, gemstones of many kinds, each with its own water. On the dome of the boss itself there was a stone whose name I shall reveal to you – in the East they call it ‘anthrax’, but here it is known as ‘carbuncle’. Queen Secundille, in whose favour he wished to live, had given him as device the pure beast Ecidemon to be escort of her love: it was her wish that he should display it.
Loyalty in purest essence was fighting there. Great loyalty was at grips with loyalty. Both had yielded up their lives to ordeal by battle for Love’s sake. Each had given his hand in pledge. The Christian had placed his full trust in God since leaving Trevrizent, who had counselled him so warmly to ask help of Him Who has power to hearten those in trouble.
There is no gainsaying the Infidel had mighty limbs. When he shouted ‘Thabronit!’ (where Queen Secundille resided at the foot of the Caucasus Mountain), he gained new courage to assail the man who till now had been spared such an overload of fight – Parzival had been a stranger to defeat, never having suffered it, though many had got it from him.
They swung their arms with expertise, fiery flashes leapt from their helmets and a bitter wind rose from their swords. God save Gahmuret’s offspring there! This prayer is meant for both the Christian and the Infidel, whom I have lately named as one. And were they better acquainted they would regard it so themselves. They would not have laid such high stakes: for the price put on their fighting was their happiness, their good fortune and honour, no more. If he cherishes bonds of affection, whichever proves victorious will have lost his joy in this life and found heartfelt grief without end.
Why are you so slow, Parzival, not fixing your thoughts on that chaste and lovely woman – I mean your wife? Have you no wish to live on?
The Infidel was accompanied by two things on which his best strength depended. First, he cherished a love enshrined in his heart with constancy. Second, there were precious stones which with their pure and noble virtues gave him spirit and enhanced his strength. It vexes me that the Christian is growing weary from fighting, from forward rushes and the dealing of strong blows. If Condwiramurs and the Gral are unable to come to your* aid, then, valiant Parzival, you could have one thought to hearten you: that the charming, handsome boys Kardeiz and Loherangrin – whom his wife had conceived from his last embraces – should not be left fatherless so soon! If you ask me, children chastely begotten are a man’s supreme blessing.
The Christian was regaining strength. He was thinking – and it was not a moment too soon – of his wife the Queen and of her noble love, which he had won with play of sword on Clamide beneath the walls of Belrepeire, while fire leapt from helmets under blows! ‘Thabronit!’ and ‘Thasme!’ were now countered by answering shouts, for Parzival had begun to cry ‘Belrepeire!’ And now from four or more kingdoms away and just in the nick of time Condwiramurs came to his aid with the power of her love, and I should say chips to the value of some hundred marks went flying from the Infidel’s shield.
The stout sword of Gaheviez was shattered by a blow on the Infidel’s helmet which brought the bold and mighty stranger to his knees. It was no longer pleasing to God that Parzival should wield a weapon robbed from a corpse, as though this were right and proper: for this was the sword he had taken from Ither, knowing no better in his youthful ignorance.
The Infidel, who had never before gone down from a sword-blow, quickly leapt to his feet again. The issue is still undecided. The verdict between them lies in the hand of Him on high. May He avert their dying!
The Infidel was magnanimous. ‘It is clear to me, warlike man,’ he said, politely shaping his mouth to French of which he had a knowledge, ‘that you would go on fighting without your sword. But what honour would I gain from you then? Refrain, valiant warrior, and tell me who you are. I declare that had your sword not snapped you would have won my fame, all that has been accorded me over the years. Now let there be a truce between us till we have rested our limbs and recovered somewhat.’
They sat down on the grass. They were both well-bred as well as brave, while in age they were neither too old nor too young for fighting.
‘Now believe me, Knight,’ the Infidel went on to the Christian, ‘that in all my days I never saw a man more entitled to the fame one wins in battle. Condescend, sir, to tell me your name and lineage, then my voyage to these parts will have prospered.’
‘If I am to comply from fear,’ replied the son of Herzeloyde, ‘and grant this under duress, none need trouble to ask it of me.’
‘Then I will name myself first,’ replied the Infidel of Thasme, ‘and be saddled with the reproach. I am Feirefiz Angevin, with such a plenitude of power that many lands pay tribute to me!’
Hearing these words, Parzival asked the Infidel ‘What entitles you to call yourself “Angevin”? Anjou, with all its fortresses, lands and towns, is mine by in
heritance. Sir, I pray you, choose another style. If I am to lose my lands and the noble city of Bealzenan, you will have done me violence. If either of us is an Angevin, I claim by true descent I am he I Nevertheless, I have been told for a fact that there is a fearless warrior living in the heathen lands who has won love and fame with chivalric exploits, and is called my brother. Those people have given him the palm. Now, sir,’ continued Parzival, ‘once I had seen your features I would tell you if you are the one described to me. If you will go with me that far, sir, bare your head. If you will take my word for it, I shall not attack you till it is helmeted again.’
‘I have little fear of any harm from you,’ replied the Infidel. ‘Even if I were wearing no armour at all, you would be overcome, seeing that your sword is shattered. All your skill in war cannot save you from death, unless I am pleased to spare you. Before you started to wrestle I should send my sword ringing through mail and skin.’
The gallant, mighty Infidel evinced a manly bent, for with a ‘This sword shall belong to neither of us!’ the fearless knight flung it far out into the forest. ‘If there’s to be any fighting here,’ he added, ‘even chances must prevail. Now, sir, by the care that formed your breeding, since it seems you have a brother, tell me what he looks like,’ said mighty Feirefiz. ‘Describe his face to me and what sort of complexion they named to you.’
‘It is like a parchment, with writing,’ answered Herzeloyde’s son, ‘black and white, in patches. That is how Ekuba described him to me.’
‘I am he,’ replied the Infidel.
Neither wasted any time. They at once bared their heads of their helmets and coifs. Parzival found treasure trove, the most precious he had ever lit on. The Infidel was recognized immediately for he was marked like a magpie. Feirefiz and Parzival ended their strife with a kiss. It was more fitting for them to be friends than bitter enemies. Their contest was settled by loyalty and affection.
‘Happy I, that I ever set eyes on the son of noble Gahmuret!’ cried the Infidel joyfully. ‘All my gods are exalted by it. My goddess Juno may well rejoice in the glory of it. It was my mighty god Jupiter who bestowed this bliss on me I Gods and goddesses, I adore your power for ever! May the light of that planet be praised under which I set out on my quest for adven ture to you, terrible, charming man! Praised be the breeze and the dew which descended on me this morning! Lucky the women who are destined to see you, gentle unlocker of love! – What felicity will have been theirs!’
‘You speak well,’ said the man of Kanvoleiz, ‘I would speak better, if I could, and with affection. But, alas, I am not so versed that I could exalt your noble reputation with words – God knows, I do not lack the will. Whatever arts my heart and eyes command, they allow of nothing else than that your fame is leader and they the chorus. I know for a fact that I was never harder pressed by any knight.’
‘Jupiter neglected nothing in your making, noble knight,’ said Feirefiz. ‘Do not address me formally any more. – After all, we have one father.’ And with brotherly affection he begged him to spare him formal modes and to address him familiarly.
This was not to Parzival’s liking. ‘Brother,’ said he, ‘your power and wealth rival the Baruc’s, and you are also my senior. If I have any manners, my younger years and poverty should restrain me from taking such a liberty as to use familiar terms with you.’*
The lord of Tribalibot praised his god Jupiter in many ways. He also lauded his goddess Juno highly for arranging the weather so that he and all his army made their landfall from the sea at the point where he and Parzival had met.
They sat down for the second time, with all due courtesy towards each other.
‘I shall make over two rich lands to you,’ said the Infidel, resuming their conversation, ‘which shall serve you in perpetuity – Zazamanc and Azagouc. Your father and mine acquired them when King Isenhart died. Valiant man, he abandoned none who relied on him – except that he left me fatherless! I have not forgiven my father this wrong. His wife who bore me died pining for the love she had lost in him. I should much like to see that man. I have been told there never was a better knight. The purpose of my voyage in such state is to find him.’
‘I have never seen him either,’ said Parzival. ‘I have been told that he achieved great exploits – I have heard of them in many places – and that he knew both how to extend his fame and exalt his glory in battle. All thought of misconduct fled away from him. He was at the service of the ladies, and if they were sincere they honestly requited it. He practised that for which the Christian faith is still honoured today, namely steadfast loyalty. Helped by a constant heart, he subdued all falsity in his doing. This is what those who knew the man you would like to see were kind enough to tell me. Were he still alive I am sure you would commend him, since commendation is what he strove for. This requiter of ladies was impelled by his service to joust with King Ipomidon below the walls of Baghdad, where in Love’s name his noble life was rendered up to death. – In regular joust we lost the man who sired the two of us.’
‘Alas for affliction that has no redress!’ cried the Infidel. ‘Is my father dead? I may well say that I have lost happiness, and yet before my eyes I have proof positive of having found it! For in one and the same hour I have both lost and found it. If I lay hold of truth, both my father and you, and I, too, were but one, though seen as three distinct entities.* No wise man in search of truth counts father and children as related.† On this field you were fighting with yourself. I came riding to do battle with myself and would gladly have slain myself. By fighting on so doggedly you defended my own life from me. Jupiter, record this marvel: thy power succoured us by coming between us and death!’
He laughed (and wept in secret). His infidel eyes began to sprinkle water as though to the glory of the Baptism. (The Baptism teaches steadfast Love, since our New Law is named after Christ, in Whom steadfast Love was witnessed.)
The Infidel spoke, I will tell you what he said. ‘Let us not sit here any longer. Ride with me a short way. I shall command the finest army to which Juno ever gave sail-wind to quit the sea and encamp on terra firma for you to review them. Truly, and without misleading you with empty boasts, I shall show you a host of illustrious men who do me homage. You must ride there with me.’
‘Have you such control over your people that they will wait for you today and for as long as you are away from them?’ asked Parzival.
‘Unquestionably,’ replied the Infidel. ‘Were I to absent myself for half a year they would wait for me, high and low, without exception. They would not dare go anywhere. Their ships are so nobly provisioned to lie there in harbour that neither horses nor men need go ashore, except for water from the springs or fresh air over towards the meadows.’
‘In return, you shall be shown ladies of radiant beauty,’ Parzival told his brother, ‘and the delight which they occasion, and also many courtly knights of your own noble lineage. For Arthur the Briton lies encamped here with his illustrious following. I took leave of them only this morning, together with a most charming company – we shall indeed see comely ladies there.’
When the Infidel heard women named – they were his very life – he said ‘Take me with you. And also answer this question. Shall we see our kinsmen when we arrive at Arthur’s? On the subject of Arthur’s style of life I have heard that he is very famous and lives magnificently.’
‘We shall see dazzling ladies there,’ replied Parzival. ‘Our ride will not be in vain, for we shall find our own true race, people of whose blood we are born, with some crowned heads among them.’
They both got up. Parzival remembered to retrieve his brother’s sword and thrust it back into the noble warrior’s sheath. Thus the anger and hostility between them were ended, and they rode away together as friends.
News of them had already been received at Arthur’s before they arrived there. That day throughout the whole army there had been sorrow in which all shared that noble Parzival had left them. After due counsel, Arthur resolved t
hat he would not ride out but would wait for Parzival there for a whole week. Gramoflanz’s army had also arrived there. Many broad rings of gaily adorned pavilions were set for him, and there those proud worthies were lodged. The four brides could not have been entertained more pleasurably.
At this juncture a man rode in from Schastel marveile with a report that a battle had been observed in the Pillar up in the watch-tower and that any sword-fight until then ‘is nothing compared with this battle!’ – such news did he tell Gawan as the latter sat beside Arthur. No few knights began to discuss whom the battle could have been fought by.
‘I know who fought it on one side,’ King Arthur broke in. ‘My kinsman of Kanvoleiz, who left us early this morning!’
At this point the two rode in.
Their helmets and shields had been attacked by swords in a fashion that did honour to warfare. Both carried hands well-versed in tracing the lines of war, for in war, too, art is required. They rode along Arthur’s ring. Many eyes followed them where the Infidel rode so unbelievably richly caparisoned!
The field was covered with lodges. They turned past the high pavilion towards Gawan’s ring. Did anyone acquaint them with the fact that people were pleased to see them? I imagine this was done. Gawan quickly followed them, for he had seen from Arthur’s court that they had ridden towards his own pavilion. There he received them with every mark of pleasure.
The two were still wearing their armour. Courteous Gawan soon had them unarmed. The beast Ecidemon had had his share of the fighting! The surcoat the Infidel was wearing had also suffered badly from blows. It was a saranthasme studded with many precious stones. Below it his tabard was visible – piled, bepictured, snow-white. On it here and there costly gemstones were set. Pairs of salamander-worms had woven it in the fire. The lady who had given him this caparison had hazarded her love, lands and person – I mean Queen Secundille! – while he in turn gladly did her bidding in times of happiness or hardship. It was her heart’s desire to bestow her riches on him, for his high fame had achieved her love.
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