Parsifal's Page (10 page)

"Then someone must find him and tell him to come and be knighted," King Arthur said mildly. "I wonder, Gawain, if—"

"It would be an honor, sire. I'll find him, in this or any other country he travels to."

Piers's heart was pounding, and he said, "Sir Gawain?" The knight looked at him. "Please, sir, would you let me travel with you?"

Sir Gawain frowned. "I already have a squire, friend."

"Please. I have to tell Parsifal something." Sir Gawain looked a question, and Piers said, "I must tell him that I was wrong."

Sir Gawain reached out and flipped Piers's cheek carelessly. "All right, lad. What's your name?"

Piers lifted his chin and spoke clearly. "My name is Piers."

Even in his despondency, oppressed by his need to find Parsifal, Piers could not help feeling some excitement at setting out on a quest with the famous Sir Gawain. Sir Gawain rode in the lead atop the largest horse Piers had ever seen, followed by his silent squire, Terence. Piers rode last, determined to watch Terence's every move so as to learn how to serve a knight well.

He soon saw more than he'd expected. As soon as they were out of sight of the king's camp, Terence stopped his horse. Glancing over his shoulder, Sir Gawain reined in as well. "I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?" Terence said in an irritated voice. Piers blinked in amazement.

"Oh, have you decided to stop giving me the silent treatment?" Sir Gawain replied. "Well, then, let me explain what—"

"All I do is run one little errand, and what happens? I come back and find that you've volunteered to go off on a silly chase, looking for a knight. Shouldn't be hard, should it? He's only one knight and England's only one country. Whatever possessed you, milord?"

"Look, Terence, I'm sorry about this, but when I tell you—"

"Didn't occur to you that I might be tired of
traveling. Didn't occur to you that I hadn't seen Eileen in a month and was looking forward to—"

"I have to, Terence!"

"Have to? Why do you have to look for this nameless knight?"

"He's not nameless! It was when I heard his name that I realized I needed to find him."

Terence's eyes widened. "Don't tell me it's your knock-brained brother again! I won't go off looking for Gareth, milord, and you shouldn't either. He'll just get lost again anyway."

"It's not Gareth," Sir Gawain said patiently. "His name's Parsifal."

"Parsifal? I don't know any ... Parsifal, you say?" Terence hesitated. "You don't mean the chap you fought that night in the—" Terence broke off and glanced behind him at Piers for the first time.

"In the Other World," Piers supplied. Terence's eyes showed a sudden interest in the page.

"That's what I was trying to tell you," Sir Gawain said, while Terence scrutinized Piers. "This is Piers, Parsifal's former page, and he knew about that wrestling bout. So now you see why I had to volunteer, don't you? I'm the one who told Parsifal to come to Arthur's court in the first place." Sir Gawain paused, then added in a formal tone, "But if you don't want to come with me, of course, my lord duke, you could always stay behind."

Terence glanced at his master and snorted. "Milord, I know it's hard for you, but
do
try not to be more of an ass than God made you."

Sir Gawain laughed and started his horse again. Terence smiled at Piers, who was shocked at the familiar banter between the knight and his squire. Terence jerked his head. "Sorry I was out of frame just now, Piers. Come ride beside me." And then Terence joined Sir Gawain, and to his own amazement Piers found himself riding between them, side by side, chatting easily with both.

Gawain began to question Piers about Parsifal. "The thing I'm wondering, lad, is how your friend is defeating all these knights. Arthur called him a country fellow. Has he received some training?"

"Yes, sir," Piers said. "After we left King Arthur, Parsifal studied for three months at the castle of one Sir Gurnemains."

The effect of this revelation was not what Piers had expected. Sir Gawain and Terence roared with laughter. "Not old Griflet's mentor!" Sir Gawain said between gasps. "And exactly what did Parsifal learn from that silly old fop?"

Piers flushed and looked down. "Manners, mostly," he muttered. Then he grinned at a sudden memory and added, "And how to walk funny."

"Well, manners are useful," Sir Gawain said, still grinning. "Just not in battle."

"Then, when we left Sir Gurnemains, Parsifal spent another three months training with sword and lance," Piers added, hoping that Sir Gawain would not ask any further questions. It was no use, though.

"Training with whom?" Sir Gawain asked.

Piers sighed. "With a woodcutter," he admitted.

Terence laughed suddenly, but not with the disdain that Piers had expected. "A woodcutter, you say. Would this woodcutter be named Jean le Forestier?" he asked. Piers nodded, and Terence grinned broadly.

"Do you know this Jean, Terence?" Sir Gawain demanded. Terence nodded but did not offer any further explanation, and Sir Gawain turned back to Piers. "Tell me about him."

"I think Jean might not be his real name," Piers said. "I think he might once have been a squire or knight's servant, because he had his own sword hidden away. He was a big fellow with a wild beard and a bit of a French accent."

"French accent—Good Gog!" Sir Gawain exclaimed, looking sharply at Terence. "Is that where Lancelot's been since he left the court? Cutting wood?"

Terence nodded. "I told him I'd keep it quiet, so don't go spreading it about. Either of you."

Piers could only stare. Sir Lancelot! Even in the isolation of his father's blacksmith shop, Piers had heard how Sir Lancelot had gone mad and disappeared from the court after being shamed by some sorcerer.
Had Piers really lived for three months alongside the most famous of all knights without knowing it?

Terence cleared his throat. "I believe Lancelot has decided that knightly pursuits, or at least his own understanding of them, were sort of pointless. But I'm glad to hear he hasn't given up his skills entirely. Your master, Piers, seems to have fallen in with at least one good teacher."

Piers rode the next few miles in silence, still awestruck over his discovery that Jean was Sir Lancelot. Terence and Sir Gawain continued to talk, but after a while they stopped and leaned forward, listening. "Your ears are better than mine, Terence," Sir Gawain said. "A full cohort?"

"Not quite so much. Two hundred horses, but they have at least one wagon. Planning a siege perhaps."

Piers strained his ears and at last heard what the others had noted: a muted rumble in the distance.

"Let's go see," Sir Gawain said.

There was no talking as they rode now. In a minute, Piers could see a low cloud of dust rising over an irregular band of trees ahead. They rode right into the grove, then walked their horses slowly through it and looked out the other side. There, flashing and glinting and rumbling in the dust and sun, was an army on the move, much larger than either of King Clamide's forces had been. Terence made a motion to
Sir Gawain, who nodded, and then Terence rode his horse out of the trees and joined the procession.

Gawain glanced at Piers's mystified look and explained. "He's going to find out what's going on. People always talk to Terence."

Sure enough, in a few minutes Terence reappeared, followed by another young man in squire's clothes. "Milord," Terence said, grinning, "allow me to introduce Squire Brevard. I thought I'd let him tell the tale himself."

Squire Brevard looked closely at Sir Gawain. "I didn't half believe your squire," he said, "but I guess you might be Sir Gawain, after all."

"I am relieved to hear you say so," Sir Gawain replied solemnly. "I confess that I've always thought so myself."

Squire Brevard chuckled, but then grew serious again. "I've heard it said that you understand love."

"No one understands love," Sir Gawain said. "But understanding is much overvalued. Perhaps I can help you, anyway. Are you in love?"

"It's not me; it's my master, Sir Malchance."

Sir Gawain smiled. "What an unfortunate name," he murmured. Piers hid a grin.
Malchance
was French for "bad luck."

"It's not his name that's unfortunate," Brevard said bitterly. "It's his temper."

"Tell me the story," Sir Gawain said.

"All right, although it's no pleasure to tell. My master, Sir Malchance, is the son of King Lys, but the king died when Malchance was a child and, according to his father's dying request, Malchance was taken to Duke Lyppaut to raise as his own. Now this Lyppaut has two daughters, and the eldest, Lady Obie, is the fairest lady in the land."

Brevard made this last comment in the lofty tones of a minstrel. Sir Gawain chuckled. "I'll bet."

Brevard grinned back. "Actually, she's not so bad looking. Her younger sister Obilot is prettier, though. Anyway, Malchance grew up, studied knighthood, was knighted by Lyppaut himself, and of course fell in love with Obie."

"Of course," Sir Gawain said.

"So he proposed marriage, and she turned him down."

"Didn't care for him, eh?"

Brevard shook his head decidedly. "No, that's the silly part of it. Obie's as much in love in Malchance as he is with her. I know. I used to deliver their secret love letters."

"Secret? Why secret? Surely this Lyppaut doesn't disapprove."

Brevard laughed. "Their marriage is his fondest dream. But Obie's of a rather, ah, romantical disposition."

"I see," Sir Gawain said, shaking his head sadly.
"She thought it would be romantic to have a secret love—private meetings, messages in code, secret signals at dinner—"

Brevard nodded. "All of that and more."

"So why did she turn him down?" Gawain asked.

"Another romantical notion," Brevard said disgustedly. "She dreams of a valiant knight, and so she said that until Malchance had proven himself in battle, she could never marry him. So, in a black rage, he went off and raised an army, and now we're about to lay siege to Lyppaut's castle to demand that he let Obie marry him."

"Thus forcing Lyppaut to do what he's always wanted to do anyway," Sir Gawain said, laughing suddenly.

"Milord?" Terence said. "I know you're the Maiden's Knight and all that, but I don't suppose you could give this one a miss, could you?" Sir Gawain laughed again, and Terence muttered, "I didn't think so."

It was no trouble at all for Sir Gawain and his companions to join the ranks without notice. Sir Malchance had hired his soldiers from all over England, and few knew any of the others. Piers was dazzled by the array of arms and armor about him, but Sir Gawain and Terence regarded most of the other knights with amusement. When he asked Terence why, Terence replied, "I doubt if more than half of these fellows have
ever been in armor in their lives. This Malchance probably offered to pay his knights a year's wages and every squire and manservant and plowboy who could find a suit of arms joined up for a lark." His smile faded. "I hope no one is hurt in this folly."

The next day they arrived at Duke Lyppaut's home, a squat, modest sort of castle, set in a broad, flat plain. They rode close, and as soon as they were within earshot of the walls, a man in silver armor rode out of the vanguard and raised his lance in the air. "Come to me, all my captains!" he shouted.

Sir Gawain, sitting on his huge black horse beside Piers, chuckled. "What do you want to bet that Malchance doesn't even know who his hired captains are?" He clicked his tongue and his horse trotted forward and joined the group. A few of the other knights looked at him curiously, but no one said a word. Malchance rode a few steps forward, his captains and Sir Gawain at his heels, and called out. "Duke Lyppaut! Thou traitor! Show thyself!"

A white-haired man looked over the battlements. Piers could see two female figures beside him. "What is it, son?" the duke asked mildly.

"I have come to demand of thee what is truly mine."

Duke Lyppaut shrugged. "Everything I have is yours. You know that."

This threw Malchance out of his rhythm, and he
hesitated. Piers almost felt sorry for him. It must be hard to sound threatening when your victim calls you "son" and willingly offers you whatever you want. At last he recovered. "I have not yet told you what I demand, sirrah! I have come to take your eldest daughter from you, whatsoever say ye!"

Duke Lyppaut's face lit with a joyous smile. "In truth? Oh, Malchance, if only her mother were here to see—"

"Tell him he wastes his time!" shouted a voice beside the duke. It was one of the ladies. "Tell him that I shall have none of him." The duke clearly was surprised. He said something in an under voice to his daughter, but she only tossed her head and declared, "Never! Should I, the daughter of a duke, marry myself to a beardless, untried youth?"

"His beard will come in soon enough," the duke said placatingly. "I thought you liked—"

"Like this child? I laugh at the idea." Then, as if to prove her words, the lady added a grim, "Ha-ha!"

Malchance uttered an oath and then shouted furiously, "Then I shall fight! And when I have slain every one of your knights, then perhaps you shall think differently, my Lady Scorn!"

Duke Lyppaut turned abruptly and shouted across his own castle walls. "Listen to me, men! Not one of you will take up arms against Malchance. Do you understand me? No fighting Malchance!"

"What?" Malchance demanded, beside himself. "You can't do that!"

"I won't have my future son-in-law hurt!" the duke shouted back.

"He's not your future son-in-law!" the lady declared. "I won't marry him, I tell you!" She put her hand on her forehead and looked over her shoulder at her father's knights. "Oh, will none of you champion me against this my oppressor?"

"No, they won't, and that's that," Duke Lyppaut snapped. "Look here, Obie, have you and Chance had a quarrel?"

Malchance interrupted, shouting again, "You can't do that, Uncle Lyppaut! I've come to fight, I tell you! I will prove my honor in battle, before your very eyes!"

"Not with my men, you won't," the duke said abruptly.