Parsifal's Page

by Gerald Morris

  By the time Piers caught up, Parsifal had already sent a knight in gold armor crashing to the turf and was himself dismounting. "Before I bash you, let me make sure this time. You are King Clamide, aren't you?"

  The gold knight rose to his feet, spluttering curses. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"

  "I asked first. Are you King Clamide? I'm sorry that I have to ask, because I don't want to be rude, but last time I didn't ask, and by the time I found out it was just King Clamide's seneschal, I had already beaten him, and I'm afraid that might have been even ruder." Parsifal glanced at Piers, as if seeking his judgment, and Piers nodded. Probably beating up the wrong man was worse etiquette than asking too many questions.

  "You say you beat my seneschal?" the gold knight asked.

  "Yes, that's right. If you're King Clamide, that is. Black armor with pretty plumes on top. He said his name was Kingrun."

  "Kingrun has never been defeated in combat," King Clamide said.

  "Yes, he said that, too, but I didn't believe him. Do you mean it's true?" The king nodded, and Parsifal shook his head slowly. "Well, I must say, I think he needs to get out more." Parsifal shrugged. "But that's not important now. I've come to tell you that Queen Conduiramour doesn't want to marry you, so you can go home now."

  "Never!"

  "Or you can fight me." Parsifal drew his sword.

  The king glanced around at his confused army. "Well, are you just going to sit there?"

  There was a long silence. At last one of the knights raised his visor and looked curiously at the king. "What would you have us do, your highness?"

  "What would I—? Fight him, of course."

  "No, you've misunderstood," Parsifal explained. "I've only challenged you. But if the others want to have a turn when I'm finished with you, I don't mind." He looked at the knight who had spoken. "Would you like to fight me after I've beaten your king?"

  The knight shook his head. "No, that's quite all right. You go ahead."

  One by one, the knights drew back, leaving Parsifal and King Glamide alone in a wide circle. The king gulped audibly, began to draw his sword, then pushed it back into its sheath and knelt. "Oh, dash it all. Very well, I yield."

  Parsifal stared. "Don't you even want to fight?"

  The king removed his helm, revealing a boyish face with a thin beard and a sallow complexion. "I've been ill, you see, or I'd fight you in a shot. I had one of my bilious attacks just last night. Ask my doctor, if you don't believe me." This last was said to his knights as much as to Parsifal. "And I think you've broken one of my ribs with your lance. It hurts right here." He pointed at his side.

  Parsifal looked at Piers. "What do you think?"

  "I suppose it counts as defeating him, since you did knock him down. Send him to do honor to someone, I guess."

  "Queen Connie?"

  Piers considered this. "If you couldn't send the other one to her, I don't suppose you can send this one."

  "I guess not. I'll send him to that lady at Arthur's court, too." For the next minute, Parsifal gave his directions to King Clamide. He made him promise to give up all pretension to Queen Conduiramour's hand, and sent him off with his army in his train.

  "Before we go back," Parsifal said, "let me get us some fresh meat."

  ***

  They came back to Belrepeire just at dusk. The gates were shut, but when Parsifal called out, the elderly knight Sir Reynold opened the gate. Sir Reynold looked carefully about him. "Welcome back, sir," he said. "We thought you had left us."

  "I did, but I'm back," Parsifal said. "May I see the queen?"

  Queen Conduiramour herself stepped out of the shadows. "Welcome home, Parsifal. I was disappointed when they said you had left during the night."

  Parsifal dismounted and walked up to the queen. "I didn't want to wait here, because I was afraid that King Clamide might kill me, and I didn't think that would be pleasant for you to watch, so I went on up the road."

  Queen Conduiramour's brow creased. "On up the road?"

  "Yes, so that when I fought them I'd be out of sight."

  "You fought them?"

  "That's right. But as it turned out, I could have fought them here just as well. I don't think that King Clamide really has much stomach for fighting after all. Of course, he wasn't feeling well, and one must take account of illness. You know how weak it can make you feel. But even that other fellow, what was his name, Pierre?"

  "Sir Kingrun."

  "Yes, even Sir Kingrun was disappointing. Anyway, I sent them off, so you can have your farmlands back. And here are three deer and a boar. If you like, we could roast them all together tonight. It would be like a celebration."

  Queen Conduiramour's face brightened and softened, and a huge smile spread across it. "Just like a celebration," she said softly. Parsifal smiled at her, and then the queen reached up and took Parsifal's face in her hands and kissed him soundly on the lips.

  Parsifal gaped at her for a second, then said hesitantly, "My mother told me that one day I would see a woman I thought more fair than any other, and that I should kiss her."

  "Your mother was very wise, Parsifal," the queen said, and they kissed again.

  V. The Castle That Wasn't There

  The problem, Piers thought as he paced the floor in his room at Belrepeire, was that it had all happened too fast. It was almost three months since he and Parsifal had first come to Belrepeire, and fully two months after Parsifal and Queen Conduiramour had been married, and Piers still had the feeling that something had gone wrong.

  He pushed out his lips in what his mother used to call a moue. It wasn't that he disapproved of Queen Conduiramour. She was, as far as he could tell, the perfect lady. She was wise and graceful, beautiful and witty, quick with both her laughter and her sympathy, beloved by all her subjects, and very clearly in love with Parsifal. It was just that—Piers frowned and tried to put it into words—it was just that she had appeared on the scene too early. In his mother's stories, the beautiful maiden who marries the hero had always appeared at the end of the story, after years of trials and many great victories. But in this case, Parsifal had had six months of training under Sir Gurnemains and Jean le Forestier, and then, within weeks, had saved the lady and married her and become King of Belrepeire. How could you become a king before you've even become a knight? There just wasn't anything like it in the stories.

  Forcing himself to be honest, Piers admitted that a part of his dissatisfaction was that he was bored. He had dreamed of being the page of a great king, and so he was, he supposed, but it was not at all what he had expected. He had imagined a life of glamour and great banquets and balls every night and had pictured himself carrying private messages from knights to their secret loves and being a part of castle intrigues. Compared to that image, life at Belrepeire was sadly flat. Parsifal and the queen ate the same simple meals as their servants, and neither showed much interest in ceremony. They often went out to the farms of their tenants to visit their subjects. Parsifal still went hunting often, and he had even gone out with some of the castle servants to cut wood when their supply got low. A king who would take an axe out with his woodcutters was not the type who required much service from a page. Parsifal ran his own errands, sent no secret love letters, and even chose his own clothes. Once again, it didn't fit the stories, and Piers simply couldn't account for it.

  Once or twice, when Piers was alone with Parsifal, he had delicately suggested that perhaps he and the queen would like to make a state visit to Camelot to see King Arthur, or one of the lesser kings in England, like King Mark of Cornwall. Even that would be interesting, Piers thought, because although King Mark was reputed to be a surly fellow, the famous Sir Tristram was in Cornwall. Piers would dearly love to meet some of the knights he had heard of in the stories.

  Piers sighed and closed his window. It was only about five o'clock, but Parsifal and the queen ate their dinner unfashionably early, and one of the few jobs that Piers actually had was to serve their
meal. He walked down to the kitchens, where the cook was dishing up a plain mutton stew with bread. Piers shook his head as he lifted the tray. To see such a common meal set before royalty would have broken Sir Gurnemains's heart.

  Parsifal and his queen were sitting in the small dining room where they usually took their meals when Piers arrived. They were silent, which struck Piers as odd, because usually they were talking and laughing together when he arrived. Beyond a quiet, "Thank you, Pierre," neither spoke to him. Piers withdrew to his usual place at the wall, and watched with growing consternation as the two ate almost their entire meal in silence. At last, as he pushed away his empty bowl, Parsifal spoke.

  "Look, Connie, I am happy here."

  Queen Conduiramour's voice was soft. "I had always thought so."

  "And I will come back," Parsifal said firmly. Piers stared, suddenly intent on his master.

  "But you won't say when?"

  "I can't, Connie. I don't know when. It may take me a while to convince my mother to leave her home and join us here."

  "And what if she won't? What if she wants you to stay? What will you do?"

  "I will come back to you, Connie. I love you."

  The queen looked at her half-finished meal for a moment, and when she looked back up, her eyes were bright with tears but she smiled. "I know, Parsifal. But I can't help feeling that there's some other reason that you want to leave."

  This time it was Parsifal who hesitated before answering. "Maybe there is." He stood and walked to the window, looking down on the fields below, just as Piers had been doing twenty minutes before. "It is only that ... I left my mother and my home because I wanted to be a knight. I wanted to have adventures and do great deeds. I have done nothing."

  "You saved me and the castle," Queen Conduiramour exclaimed.

  "But it was too easy! The first knight fought poorly, and King Glamide did not fight at all. I won your victory without even trying. Should I not face some difficult tests before I settle into life with you?"

  The queen looked sadder than ever, but she nodded. "I was afraid it might be that. You are king of this land, but I have noticed that you do not like to be called king."

  "This is your kingdom, Connie. I want to earn my own titles."

  "Then you must go," the queen said softly. "And I will miss you every day."

  "And I will miss you," Parsifal said, taking her hand. He glanced over his shoulder at Piers.

  "You coming with me, Pierre?"

  "Yes, sir!" Piers said, delighted. Then, remembering that Parsifal's departure was a cause of sorrow to the queen, he quickly moderated his glee and, searching his memory for something suitable to say, added, "Your highness?" Queen Conduiramour looked at him. "Forgive me, your highness, but it is a noble thing that you do. He could not love you, queen, so much, loved he not honor more."

  Queen Conduiramour and Parsifal looked at each other in silence for a moment, then dissolved in helpless laughter. Piers flushed and stood rigid until they had regained control of themselves. "Forgive us, Pierre," the queen said, "we meant no disrespect, but really, have you any notion how stupid that sounded?"

  Not wanting to prolong their goodbyes, Piers and Parsifal left the next morning, heading east. "How long will it take us to get to your mother's home?" Piers asked.

  "I don't know," Parsifal answered. "I don't even know which direction to take. You see, when I came here to look for King Arthur, I came from the Other World."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Where my mother lives, there are many doors to the Other World—the World of Faeries—and I often traveled there. It was in that world that I saw my first knight."

  "There are knights in the Other World?"

  "Not usually," Parsifal explained. "But this was a knight of King Arthur's court who was on a quest. I wrestled with him and then gave him directions."

  "What knight of Arthur's court?" Piers asked, interested.

  "I never asked his name. Anyway," Parsifal continued. "I went home to my mother to tell her that I wanted to be a knight. She did not want me to, but at last she consented, and I went back to the Other World to look for this knight I had met. I didn't find him, but instead, I found a new doorway to the World of Men. It took me right to Arthur's camp, where we met."

  Piers licked his lips. He had ridden up almost alongside Parsifal in his eagerness to hear more about the Other World, and he felt that he ought to return to his subservient position, but he had one more question to ask, one that he had not dared to ask in anyone else's presence. "Parsifal, in all your travels in the Other World, did you ever meet a faery named Ariel?"

  Parsifal considered the question. "Male or female?"

  "Female. About my age, I think."

  Parsifal looked at Piers sharply. "You think? Do you mean that you've seen this faery?"

  Piers nodded. "Unless it was a dream," he added.

  "It hardly matters if it was," Parsifal replied. He smiled broadly. "I would not have thought it of you. You seem so much a part of this world that I should never have expected you to see one of the Others. No, Pierre, I know of no girl named Ariel in that world. Perhaps you can introduce me to her someday."

  "If I see her again," Piers said glumly.

  "I shouldn't worry about that," replied Parsifal. They rode over a small hill and from the summit looked down on a pond that was fed by a small stream. In the pond were two men, fishing from a little ketch. One of the men, reclining in the stern, was wearing the most splendid purple clothing that Piers had ever beheld, more magnificent than anything at Arthur's court or at Sir Gurnemains's castle. Parsifal led the way to the edge of the pond.

  "How do you do, sir," Parsifal said. "I hope you are well today."

  "I hope so, too," the man in purple said, very softly "Have you come far?"

  "Not so very far," Parsifal said. "I am looking for great deeds to do."

  The man in the boat grimaced slightly, as if having a spasm of pain, and the other man in the boat said, "Dip your wrists in the water, Nuncle. It always gives you relief."

  The man in purple did so and seemed to rest easier. He turned to Parsifal and said, "I do not know what you consider a great deed, but you may ask at the castle that is behind that hill there."

  "Thank you, sir, I will," Parsifal said politely "Behind that hill."

  "Yes. Just follow the water," the man said, sinking slowly back into the stern of the boat.

  Parsifal rode alongside the small stream toward the hill. When they were past the two anglers, he looked back at Piers. "Do you think that man was ill?"

  "I wondered, too," Piers said, "but I'm glad that you didn't ask. Some people are very sensitive about their ailments. He could have been offended."

  "Oh, I haven't forgotten everything that you and Sir Gurnemains taught me," Parsifal said lightly.

  The hill toward which the fisherman had pointed was not very large around, but was quite tall—a sharp plug of rock jutting up from the ground. When Piers and Parsifal came round it, Piers saw to his surprise that the hill must be larger than it appeared, for behind it was a castle more magnificent than anything he had ever imagined. The two travelers stared. "Surely there are great deeds to do in such a place as that," Parsifal said eagerly.

  They clopped over a tiny bridge and entered the castle gate. Three ladies stood in the entrance hall. "Welcome, sir," one said. "We have been waiting for you. I am bid to bring you to your rooms and thence to the feast."

  "Feast?" Parsifal said. He leaned forward as if to ask more, but at the last second caught himself. He glanced at Piers and grinned ruefully. "You are very kind," he said to the lady.

  The ladies led them to a large bedchamber and left them, promising to send someone for them soon. Piers helped Parsifal remove his armor. "This is mysterious, isn't it, Pierre?"

  "Very," Piers assented.

  "I think they have some secret here," Parsifal said firmly. "I can feel the magic of it." He pondered this for a moment, then added, "But I imagine
that they'll tell us what it is when they're ready." Piers nodded his approval and surveyed his master. Even coming straight from a long ride, Parsifal looked fresh and elegant. Piers was proud of him.

  A slight tapping came from the door, and then an impish face peeked in. Piers recognized the man who had been in the boat with the magnificent fisherman. "Yes?" Parsifal asked.

  "Oo, ye're not up to much, are ye?" the man said, wrinkling his face. He stepped into the room, and Piers saw that he was wearing the motley multi-colored garb of a royal fool. "I was thinking ye'd be so grand, but here ye be, a mere sprat of a boy." He reached across and patted Piers's head. "Ye looked bigger in yere armor, son.

  Piers stepped back distastefully, and Parsifal said, "I was the one in the armor, fellow."

  "Ah, that's better, think on. But even so—" The man turned his scrutiny to Parsifal. "Ye don't look like so much yereself. Can ye do this?" With a sudden leap, the man flipped himself over into a handstand and began walking around the room on his arms, clucking like a chicken.

  Piers and Parsifal stared at the man with consternation, but they said nothing. At last the man righted himself, looked back at the two and said, "Nay, ye're neither one worth a dram. 'Twere better if ye'd never come. Ye haven't even asked my name or my business."

  Parsifal replied with dignity. "I assume that your business is to lead us to the feast. As for your name, I care not what to call such a frippery fellow."

  Piers felt himself swell with pride, and he wished Sir Gurnemains had been present to hear his pupil reply so masterfully to this impertinent jester. The man stuck his tongue out and made the rude gesture called a "fig" at Parsifal, but then he turned on his heel and led the way out the door. Piers and Parsifal followed, and in a few minutes were led into a grand banquet hall filled with people in gorgeous raiment.