Parsifal's Page

by Gerald Morris

  Still looking around him, Gawain sat on the edge of the bed, and then there was no more talk of being safe. The moment that he touched the bed, the door through which they had entered slammed closed and the bed began to move. Gawain grabbed quickly at the bedpost, dropping his sword on the floor, and then the bed was off—careening into walls and bouncing off, with Gawain grimly holding on to the headboard. Three times Piers had to throw himself to one side to escape being crushed between the bed and the stone wall, and Piers realized he needed to be on the bed, too. The next time the bed came toward him, Piers threw himself beside Gawain, who grabbed him and pulled him up.

  "C'est un lit merveile!" Gawain called.

  "You don't say," Piers snapped back. His foot was throbbing where the bedpost had bashed it when he jumped on, and Gawain's shield, still looped onto Gawain's forearm, kept rapping him in the face. He did not feel like making clever French conversation.

  They rode the bed about the room for another minute before Gawain called out, "There's something moving on the wall!" Piers looked and saw what Gawain meant, but the bed was moving too fast to make out what it was. "Blast!" Gawain shouted. "Get under my shield, Piers! Now!"

  Piers curled his body into as tight a ball as he could, considering the jolting he was taking, and tried to get as much of his body under the shield as possible. At once the shield began to ping and thunk with hundreds of sharp blows. Something hit Piers hard in the small of the back, and he pressed himself closer to Gawain and under the shield. "What are they?" Piers shouted.

  "Stones! From slings!" Gawain called back.

  After a moment the hail of stones stopped, and Piers ventured to peek out from under the shield. A short, thick shaft of wood zipped over him, nipping his scarlet hat from his head and pinning it neatly to the headboard. "Crossbows!" Gawain shouted. "Back under the shield!" Then the hail of missiles began again, but even more deadly this time, for every crossbow shaft that hit Gawain's shield stuck and went through it to a length of at least four inches. Soon the shield was like a giant's pincushion. More than once Piers heard Gawain grunt with pain, and he tried to push the shield over to cover the knight better, but Gawain pushed it back. "I ... have ... armor," he gasped.

  It seemed hours, but in fact was probably no more than a minute, before the crossbows stopped, and when they ceased, the bed stopped as well. "Gawain?" Piers asked after a moment.

  "I must be alive," Gawain said hoarsely. "Dead doesn't hurt this much."

  Piers crawled out from under the shield and looked around. There was blood on both of Gawain's arms, and several crossbow shafts that had managed to pierce his armor stuck out like hedgehog quills. Stiffly, Gawain got off the bed and looked around on the floor until he found his sword. Piers tugged three bolts out of the headboard and rescued his hat. All the plumes had been torn away, and with its new holes the hat was beginning to look decidedly ragged.

  "I don't know what's next, lad, but stay near me," Gawain said. He unslung his arrow-studded shield and threw it onto the bed, just as an enormous cat with a heavy ring of hair around its face came through the door. Piers had never seen a live lion before, but he knew one when he saw it.

  The lion roared and launched itself at Gawain. Gawain's sword flashed, and Piers saw blood spurt from one of the cat's paws, but the other paw knocked Gawain stumbling backwards. The lion roared again, louder, and limped toward Gawain. Gawain heaved himself to his feet and moved away. For a minute the knight and the lion both limped in a circle. Then the lion leaped again. Gawain lifted his sword, but his feet slipped beneath him in a pool of the lion's blood, and the lion landed right on top of him. Gawain's sword skittered across the room, and Piers screamed, "No!"

  Grabbing the only weapon he could find, Gawain's ruined shield, Piers ran toward the lion and threw himself against it. For a few wild moments the lion roared and thrashed while Piers pushed the shield against the lion's side, and then Piers was thrown through the air against a wall. His head rang, and he slid down the wall onto a litter of bloody stones and broken crossbow bolts.

  "Is he dead?" a voice asked. It was a woman's voice. Piers opened his eyes and saw two ladies standing over the lion's body. Gawain was nowhere to be seen. One of the ladies knelt and bowed her head. Piers saw her lips move and realized she was praying. Shaking with weariness, Piers stood.

  "What have you done with Gawain?" he said softly.

  "He is under the lion," the standing lady said. Staggering over, Piers saw that the lady was right. The lion's body almost completely covered Gawain's form.

  "Gawain?" he whispered.

  "Mmpf," said Gawain.

  IX. The Garland from the River

  By the time Piers and the two ladies had pulled the dead lion completely off him, Gawain had fainted. Wordlessly, they worked together to remove Gawain's battered armor and determine the extent of his wounds. They were many but not severe. The crossbow bolts had not been able to penetrate the double layer of armor around Gawain's torso, so all of his wounds were on his arms and legs. One lady brought a basin of water, and together the ladies bathed his wounds.

  The ladies seemed to know what to do, so Piers left them to their work and looked around. There were at least a dozen women peeking around the doorway, watching the proceedings. A few blushed when Piers looked at them, but most smiled with a friendliness that was touched with gratitude. Piers wondered where all these women had been hidden when he and Gawain had searched the castle.

  At last Gawain's wounds were washed and bound, and one of the two ladies—a graceful woman with long, straight black hair that flowed over her shoulders like a waterfall—called for a pallet. Several of the ladies hurried away, and soon they were gently lifting Gawain onto a thin, hard cot. "We'll give him a more restful bed this time, I think," the lady with black hair said. Eight of the ladies lifted Gawain, bed and all, and took him out. Then the dark-haired lady turned to Piers. "And you will be weary as well. Please come with me, and I'll take you to a room near Gawain's."

  "Thank you," Piers replied humbly. "I am very tired. But please, can you tell me what all this is? Who are you? Where did you come from?"

  "In good time, Piers."

  "You know my name? But how?"

  "In good time." They started to leave, but Piers could barely walk on the ankle that had been hit by the bedpost. Seeing his limp, the lady took Piers's arm and supported him down the hall to an elegantly furnished bedchamber. There she guided him to a chair by a cheery fire, then knelt at his feet and examined his ankle. "I think it is not broken," she said at last, "but it is very swollen. You should rest now and try not to walk on it."

  "Yes, my lady," Piers said. He could not imagine arguing with this majestic person. "Thank you, my lady."

  "You may call me Nimue," she said.

  "Nimue!" Piers exclaimed. "Then you are ... ah ... do you have ... do you have a daughter named Ariel?"

  "I do have an impetuous, willful, and incurably inquisitive daughter by that name," the woman said gravely.

  "She ... she told me that you were the most beautiful creature in any world," Piers said.

  Nimue laughed, and her laughter was like a mountain brook dancing over stones. "I'll send her in to you after you've rested," Nimue promised. Then she left, and Piers decided it would be easier to sleep in his chair by the fire than to bother moving again, so he did.

  "Piers?" the whispered voice was disturbing his dreams, and Piers tried to ignore it, but it only came back, louder this time. "Pi-ers? Oh, Pi-ers." Piers opened his eyes, and there was Ariel. She smiled happily at him. "Mother said I must let you sleep, but you were about to wake up anyway, weren't you?"

  "It doesn't matter," Piers murmured. "I'd rather be awake now anyway."

  Ariel smiled more brightly and turned pink. "Mother told me all that you've done. I think it's wonderful! Did you really attack that lion all by yourself? I didn't know you were so brave! I mean I knew you were probably brave, but I didn't know how much."

  "I wasn
't really attacking him," Piers said. "I just wanted him to get off Gawain."

  "But he could have killed you," Ariel said, her eyes wide.

  "I didn't really think about that," Piers admitted. "Say, do you know what that was all about?"

  "You mean the bed and the lion and all?" Piers nodded, and Ariel returned his nod gleefully. "Yes. Mother told me just an hour ago, and she said that I might tell you too, as soon as you woke up, which is why I just looked in to see if you were awake, and you weren't, but you looked as though you might wake up soon, so I came on in. You were about to wake up, weren't your?"

  Piers laughed. "I guess so. I'm awake, aren't I?"

  "Well, that's what I thought. Shall I tell you now, or would you rather go back to sleep?"

  "Oh, hurry up, will you?" Piers said.

  "Well, this castle is called the 'Château Merveile.' It's one of the castles of ladies. There are several of them in this world. Of course, it's not the greatest of them, but—"

  "Hold on," Piers said. "What do you mean 'this world'? Are we in—?"

  "Don't you even know?" Ariel asked, giggling. "You're in the Other World now, of course. You came over on the ferry. Isn't that funny? A ferry to the faeries. Now don't interrupt any more, or I'll forget the order of the story."

  "Sorry." Piers looked around him. It didn't look like another world, but then he'd never seen another world before, so he could be wrong.

  "Anyway, as I was saying, this is one of the castles of ladies—"

  "You mean only ladies live here?"

  "That's right."

  "Why?"

  "Well, they have to live somewhere, don't they? Are you going to keep interrupting?"

  "Sorry," Piers said, but then he added quickly, "One more thing before you get started. Where were all these ladies when Gawain and I got here? We looked everywhere."

  "I'll tell you if you'll just be quiet," Ariel said patiently. "Anyway, this castle has two hundred ladies in it, and there was this enchanter named Gottfried who wanted to come here."

  Piers frowned. "Why?"

  "What do you mean, why?"

  "I mean, why would a man want to go live somewhere where there were only women? It sounds terrible. Two hundred women always telling him to pick up his stockings and clean his nails."

  Ariel frowned thoughtfully. "Well, I don't know exactly, but mother says that men are always trying to get in. Maybe they're in love."

  "With two hundred at once?" Piers asked skeptically. "This Gottfried can't have thought it through."

  "Maybe not," Ariel said. "But that's what he wanted, anyway. And he tried and tried to get in using his magic, but every time he tried he failed."

  "We didn't have any trouble getting in," Piers observed. "Didn't this Gottfried notice that the gate was open?"

  "I don't know," Ariel said, with a touch of irritation. "I don't know why Gottfried couldn't force his way in while you just walked in, but that's what my mother told me. Do you want to hear this story or not?"

  "I'm sorry," Piers said contritely. "I'll listen now."

  "Thank you. So after Gottfried had tried everything and failed, he was very angry and he cast a curse over the whole castle. He said that since he couldn't enter and see the ladies of the castle, no one should see them." Piers frowned, puzzled, but was careful not to speak. Ariel explained, "He made the women invisible, like ghosts. So you see, they were all around you when you got here, but you just couldn't see them."

  Piers shivered and glanced involuntarily about the room. Ariel giggled. "They're all better, now, silly. And there's another part of the curse. Gottfried said that if he was to be denied a bed in this castle, then it would be a bed that held them captive. So he did a great magic and made the marvelous bed appear in the middle hall, and then he arranged for all the other things, like the slings and the crossbows and the lion."

  "But that doesn't make sense!" Piers protested, unable to stay silent any longer. "How could he do all that when he wasn't even able to magic his way into the castle? I mean, how could he get this wretched bed and this lion in but not himself?"

  Ariel smiled ruefully. "That's just what I asked Mother when she told me the story. She said that magicians who are good at making curses aren't much good at anything else. Maybe he had only one kind of magic."

  "The nastiest kind," Piers said. "And Gawain and I just walked right in without any trouble, and Gawain broke the spell."

  "You can't say that was without any trouble," Ariel pointed out. "Mother says that Sir Gawain had more than twenty wounds."

  Piers leaped to his feet, wincing as he put his weight on his ankle. In his pleasure at seeing Ariel, he had not even thought of Gawain. "Where is he? Can you take me to him?"

  Ariel hesitated, then nodded. "Well, all right. He's just next door. You ... you won't tell anyone that I woke you up, will you? I mean, if there's someone with him."

  Piers promised, and then limped behind Ariel into a corridor and on to the next door. Ariel opened it gently and peeked in. Looking over Ariel's head, Piers saw Nimue sitting beside a bed where Gawain lay asleep. "Excuse me, Mother," Ariel whispered. "Piers woke up and wanted to see Sir Gawain."

  Nimue's eyes narrowed, and she looked suspiciously at her daughter. Piers stretched elaborately and said, "I had a very good rest, ma'am."

  Nimue's lips quivered. "Very well," she said at last. Your friend is asleep, but you may come see him."

  The next few weeks were a time of sheer pleasure for Piers. While Gawain recovered from his wounds and slowly regained his strength, and as soon as Piers's ankle was better, he and Ariel climbed the castle's battlements, explored the cellars (to their shared disappointment, they found no secret doors or hidden passageways, no matter how hard they looked), and swam in the river. Ariel was like a fish in the water, but more graceful. Piers felt peaceful and secure as he had not since he left home.

  Sitting on the riverbank with Ariel, tossing pebbles into the current, Piers talked about his home. He told about his grand, proud, laughing mother and his somber, but (Piers had since realized) equally proud father. He described to her the fine metalwork that his father had in his shop, and he realized that he missed the forge. "I wish I had paid more attention to my father, but all I could think of was being a squire, or at least a page."

  Ariel hugged her knees, still damp from a swim, and looked curiously at Piers. "Being a page is an honorable life," she commented.

  "Yes," Piers said. "But when you're done at the end of the day, you haven't anything to show for it."

  Ariel looked skeptical, but all she said was, "Are you ready for another swim?"

  Piers agreed at once. "Let's race to that island over there. I get a head start."

  Ariel shook her head. "No, we aren't permitted on that island." Piers looked a question, but Ariel answered, "I don't know. Mother just said not to swim over there."

  A few nights later, Piers was walking on the battlements with Ariel and Nimue, and as they walked in view of the island, Piers stopped and looked at it. "Nimue?" he asked.

  "Yes?"

  "What is on that island? Why are we not to swim there?"

  Nimue leaned on the wall and looked at Piers fondly. "You have grown up quite a bit since you started your quest, Piers. The old Piers would have been afraid to ask questions." Piers thought of Parsifal and of their failure at Munsalvaesche, and he felt a twist of guilt. Nimue continued, "That is where the Questing Garland is kept."

  "The what?"

  "There is a garden in the center of that island, and on the tree in the middle of that garden hangs a garland of sweet flowers. Whoever has that garland is sure to find whatever he seeks."

  Piers stared at Nimue, then stared back at the island. In the growing night, it was little more than a patch of blackness in the gray river, but he stared at it as if he could catch a glimpse of the magic garland.

  "But it is not so easy as all that," Nimue added. "First, there is a knight who guards it, both day and night. And second,
and most important, the garland is useless to the one who takes it. It will not work unless it is given away."

  Piers puzzled over this for a minute. "You mean if ... Gawain or someone went and took the garland, it wouldn't help him on his quest, but if someone else took it and gave it to ... to Gawain or someone, then it would help him find what he looks for."

  Nimue's smile shone briefly in the gloom. "That's right. It is always the way in this world. Whatever you seize for yourself is worthless; only what is given you has value. That is why you and Gawain could walk into this castle without trouble, while that poor, silly magician Gottfried could not force his way in by any means under the sun. Come, let us walk on."

  The three continued on their stroll, but Piers looked over his shoulder at the dark island, and his heart beat furiously in his breast.

  It was after midnight when Piers stole into Gawain's room. He did not want to disturb the knight, but he felt that he ought to have a sword, and Gawain's was the only one that he knew of. The sword slid easily into Piers's hand, and for a moment Piers marveled at how light and well-balanced it was. His interest roused, he promised himself that he would examine the sword more closely in the daylight, if he ever saw daylight again.

  A minute later he had run silently down to the castle stables, where Guingalet snorted a surly welcome. The great horse was restless and in need of exercise, and it took Piers almost half an hour to saddle him and lead him out into the courtyard. Piers glanced nervously at the windows that lined the court, but there was no light except from the half-moon overhead. In a moment he and the horse were out of the castle at the riverbank.

  "All right, old fellow," Piers hissed to the horse. "Your master says that you're at home in the water. Let's see." Taking a deep breath, Piers climbed into the saddle. He felt Guingalet's muscles bunch, but the horse did not try to throw him. Piers let his breath out with a sigh. At Piers's direction, the horse plunged into the river. The water was unnaturally cold, or at least seemed that way in the darkness, and Piers clenched his teeth with the shock of it. When the water surged past his armpits, he lost his grip on the reins and had to grab the horse's mane to keep from falling, but he kept his grip on Gawain's sword. He hoped that Guingalet was going the right direction.