Parsifal's Page (18 page)

"I can only suppose it was because he attacked me," Parsifal replied. "Is he badly hurt?"

"His arm is broken, and his leg badly twisted, thanks to you!"

Parsifal looked at Sir Kai sympathetically. "Is there
something I can do to make him more comfortable?" he asked.

Lady Connoire's eyes grew fierce. "You do something for him? Of all the ... no, you most certainly cannot. You've done quite enough! Not only have you harmed his body, but you have insulted him repeatedly!"

"Have I?"

"Forty-one times, to be exact, with every one of those pathetic knights that you sent to grovel at my feet. And of course every one of those knights was a painful reminder of one ill-judged action on his part. Can a man not be permitted to put his mistakes behind him?"

Parsifal looked curiously at Sir Kai, then at the woman, and his brow cleared. "Ah, now I understand," he said. "I didn't recognize you at first, but you are the lady whom Sir Kai slapped. And this is Sir Kai, isn't it?"

Lady Connoire continued her tirade. "That's right, and let me tell you something, O red knight, if you were thinking that sending those forty-one knights to me was going to make me fall into your arms when I saw you again, then you are mightily mistaken! I never wanted your silly victims. I never liked having them at my feet, and I've never thought of you with anything but annoyance. I would no sooner fall in love
with you than I would fall in love with my horse."

Sir Kai raised himself up on his good elbow and stared at Lady Connoire with astonishment.

"I am glad to hear it," Parsifal replied calmly. "Because, although you are very fair, I love only one woman, Queen Conduiramour. My wife."

"What?" Sir Kai and Lady Connoire said together.

"I never sought your favors, my lady," Parsifal said.

"Then why did you send all those knights to do honor to me?" Lady Connoire demanded.

Parsifal smiled without humor. "I hardly remember how it got started. Perhaps I did intend to punish Sir Kai for his unknightly behavior. But for the past year, I have sent those knights to you simply because I wished to be rid of them, and sending them to you seemed as good as any other way. I see that I was mistaken, and I ask your forgiveness."

Sir Kai turned to King Arthur. "Help me to my feet, Arthur." The king did so. Sir Kai looked piercingly at Parsifal. "Then you're not in love with Connoire?"

"Is that her name?" Parsifal asked. "No. No, I'm not."

Sir Kai turned to Lady Connoire. "And you're not in love with him?" Lady Connoire, struck suddenly silent, shook her head. Sir Kai glowered at the crowd around them, then turned his fierce face back to Lady Connoire. "Well, then," he said. "I've something to say."

Lady Connoire raised her chin and met Sir Kai's gaze.

"I can't make flowery speeches," Sir Kai began, "and I wouldn't even if I could. I won't whimper at your feet like these callow puppies that call themselves knights these days, and I don't write poetry or play the damned rebec. I don't intend to change my manners or my way of life, but if you'll have me, Connoire, I'd be obliged if you'd marry me."

The incredulous silence that struck the watching crowd was so profound that Piers could hear the peep of a chickadee in the distant forest. Lady Connoire's expression did not change. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I don't like flowery speeches, and if you ever make one to me, I'll just laugh at you. I despise simpering poems, I hate the squealing of a rebec, and we'll see whether you'll change your manners or not. I'll marry you."

King Arthur, who was still supporting Sir Kai, said quietly, "I am not completely certain whether I have just witnessed a proposal or a challenge, but I wish you both very happy. Now I believe it would be best for Sir Kai to see my physician. Perhaps you knights could help him into the city. Yes, Lady Connoire, by all means go with him. The rest of us should retire to the banquet hall, where you may be sure we shall drink to you both. Come, Gawain. Come, Parsifal."

***

At the Christmas feast, Gawain was called on to tell the story of his quest, and Piers learned something about the nature of knightly stories. Gawain dwelt long on the details of the battle with Sir Malchance, and he told about his victory over the silly Sir Lejoie as if it were worthy of an epic. On the other hand, he passed very quickly over the grief-driven madness of the pathetic Sir Virgil, said nothing at all about Trevisant and his book, and spoke in only the vaguest terms about his trial in the Château Merveile. It came to Piers suddenly, in a flash of understanding, that the true story was not the story that most people wanted to hear. Gawain told the tale as it was expected, and it became an enjoyable and easily forgettable story about battles of no particular importance.

Parsifal, on the other hand, was not so adept. When Gawain had finished his tale, and King Arthur asked Parsifal if he could tell about his own adventures, Parsifal rose slowly to his feet and said, "I've had no adventures. I have fought where I was threatened, but even a rat will do that. I earned the love of an incomparable woman, but I foolishly left her to look for glory. The only great deed I have ever had opportunity to do, I failed to achieve, and all my efforts to redeem myself for that failure have been useless."

Parsifal sat down again, and King Arthur rose. "It has been well said, Parsifal. We have witnessed your knightly skill. Now we have witnessed your soul, and
it is more knightly still. I stand ready to make you a knight, if you desire, and to declare you a fellow of my Round Table."

Parsifal replied slowly. "But I cannot stay at your court, your highness. Tomorrow I must go again on my search."

"You will do what you must," the king said. "But I would be honored to have such a knight to join with me."

"If you wish it, sire," Parsifal said. And then, at King Arthur's direction, Parsifal knelt at the king's feet. The king touched Parsifal's shoulders lightly with his sword, then said, "Rise, Sir Parsifal, and welcome to the Fellowship of the Round Table. Be ever true to your God; protect always your neighbor; honor always your king."

Piers had no doubt that Parsifal would be departing the morning after the feast, so that evening he took his leave of Gawain. The knight looked mournful and said plaintively, "All my companions are deserting me for others," but when Piers hastened to explain, Gawain only laughed and flicked his cheek carelessly. "I'm joking. Go with God, lad."

Piers made his bed at the horse enclosure near Parsifal's mount. Sure enough, long before daylight Piers was awakened by a stirring in the pen, and there was Parsifal, saddling his horse. Piers rose at once. "Parsifal?"

"Pierre?"

"Piers," Piers corrected. "I've been waiting for you. I want to go along."

Parsifal hesitated. "I told you once that I want no page."

"I don't want to be a page anymore."

"Then what will you be?" Parsifal asked.

"Your companion?"

Again, there was a long pause. Then Parsifal said, "I would like a companion, I think."

Piers took a deep breath, tried to remember the elaborate speech he had been preparing ever since Parsifal had sent him away, but could not. He said, "I was wrong, Parsifal. I want to go with you until it is made right."

A bitter note crept into Parsifal's voice. "What if it is never made right? Are you ready to wander the rest of your life with me?"

"We'll find Munsalvaesche again. I know it. You'll have another chance to heal the fisherman king."

Parsifal turned back to his horse. "He's my uncle, you know," he said at last.

"I know. I read the hermit's book, too."

"All right," Parsifal said. "Get your horse."

Piers didn't move. "Before we go, I have something to give you." He reached into his saddlebags and produced the garland he had taken from the island. "It is a magic garland. It will bring you to the place that you seek."

Parsifal was still, and his shape in the darkness
seemed to Piers to grow even darker. "I believe in no such magic," he said harshly. "There is no help for us in charms and make-believe."

Piers took a step closer. "Please."

"No!" Parsifal snapped.

"But why not try it?" Piers asked.

Parsifal glared at the garland for a moment. "You do not know how many times these past months I have thought I was close to my uncle's castle, only to have my hopes destroyed. I want no more false hopes. Take it out of my sight!"

Piers swallowed hard. "May I bring it with me? If I keep it in my pack?"

Parsifal frowned. "Do as you like. But don't show it to me again."

They rode side by side over the snowy fields, speaking seldom, looking neither to the right nor the left. As always, Parsifal set a grueling pace. The sun rose, reached its zenith, then began to lower in the sky, and still they did not stop. Long after sundown, Parsifal reined in.

"We must eat," he muttered, as if grudging his body the time it required for food.

"You take off your armor and go hunting," Piers said. "I'll make camp."

Piers found a good campsite and collected dry wood for a fire. He cared for the horses, then examined Parsifal's armor. There were more dents and cuts in it than he could count. He tried to imagine how many blows it had taken to turn the magnificent red armor into the battered scrap that lay before him. He pounded out a few of the dents with a rock, but with no hammer, there was little he could do.

Parsifal returned with two hares, and they prepared them and ate in silence. After eating, Parsifal glanced at the armor beside Piers. "You're wasting your time," he commented. "It's hopeless."

"My father could fix it," Piers said.

"Your father?"

"He is a smith, the finest there is."

Parsifal looked curiously at Piers. "I've heard you speak of your mother, but never your father."

Piers poked at the fire but didn't reply.

So began Piers's second quest with Parsifal, but this one was very different. They rode side by side this time, but they seldom spoke. Parsifal did everything with a glowering intensity: he drove himself and his horse hard, he ate little and slept less, and the few times that he was challenged by other questing knights, he disposed of them quickly and impatiently. They found nothing that showed them the way to King Anfortas. It was bleak winter's traveling, but every night before he slept, Piers checked the Questing Garland in his pack, and each night he found the
blooms still fresh. Though the garland could only work once he gave it to Parsifal, who had forbidden Piers to even mention it, its fragrance still gave Piers heart.

After perhaps two months, the weather warming somewhat but the trees still bare, they came to a dry wilderness. No brooks or rivers ran, and no puddles of melting snow muddied the paths. A faint, fetid smell hung in the air, as if something were decaying just over every hill. That night, for the first time that Piers could remember, Parsifal returned empty-handed from his hunt.

"It is a foul country," Parsifal said. He rolled up in his blankets, leaving Piers alone by the fire. Piers waited a moment to let Parsifal go to sleep, then crept to his pack and took out the Questing Garland. He gasped. The flowers, which had been fresh and fragrant only the night before, were wilting and were tinged with brown. The garland was dying.

He had dreamed of a time when Parsifal's bitterness might subside and he would be able to give him the wreath, but now he realized he couldn't wait. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to Parsifal's prone form and gently laid the garland on Parsifal's feet. "I give it to you," Piers whispered.

Parsifal stirred. Opening his eyes, he gazed at Piers without expression. Then he looked at the garland. "I told you not to show me that again," he said. Sitting
up, Parsifal crumpled the garland into a damp ball in his hands and threw it into the darkness.

Piers wept quietly that night, his tears streaking the dust on his face, until he slept. He awoke at dawn, feeling a warm breeze stir his blankets and listening to a strange and familiar sound. He rose quickly to investigate. "Parsifal!" he exclaimed. The knight rolled from his blankets, his hand on his sword. "Look!" Piers said.

A few yards away from the camp, just where Parsifal had thrown the garland, a fount bubbled and danced in the new light. A small stream had already formed and was flowing freely away to the east, toward the sun. The garland was gone.

Parsifal stared at the little fountain, but Piers began gathering their gear. "Come on, Parsifal!"

"Come where?" Parsifal asked, still gazing at the spring.

"To follow the water," Piers said. "We have to follow the water."

They rode beside the brook, which grew deeper and wider as they went, as if fed with underground springs. The breeze blew away the rotten smell, and the sun sparkled on the water. A fish jumped in the stream, and Piers's horse shied. As Piers leaned over to calm the animal, he caught a brief glimpse of something passing just under the surface of the water. It
was there for moment, then gone, but Piers smiled. It was Ariel.

The stream became a wide, shallow river and then emptied into a broad lake that stretched as far as Piers could see. Without hesitation, he guided his horse into the lake and found that it was only a little more than a foot deep. "Come on, Parsifal!" he called over his shoulder. "Follow the water!" There was a moment of silence, then a splash as Parsifal plunged in beside him.

"Piers!" Parsifal demanded, riding up beside him. "Do you think this is from that garland!"

"Just follow the water."

"Tell me, Piers. I must know! Do you really believe that those flowers were magic?"

Piers glanced at Parsifal, whose face showed doubt and confusion and anger. "I believe the person who told me they were," Piers said.

They rode on through the lake, the water never deeper than their horses' knees. "Someone coming," Parsifal said. Piers looked up. Still a mile distant was a figure on horseback, riding toward them through the lake. "A knight," Parsifal added.

The knight headed toward them, and a minute later they were face to face. The knight was as tall and powerful-looking as Parsifal, and his armor was of a brilliant crimson. He wore his helm with the visor down.