Parsifal's Page (7 page)

Another knight, sitting nearby, added, "And his
shield is white with a black bear on the front, and he always has a blue standard tied to the tip of his lance."

"I think I should be able to find him now," Parsifal said. "Thank you very much for your help."

"No trouble at all, sir," the nearest knight said. "Happy to be of service."

Parsifal and Piers rode through the line of knights, and had no trouble finding the knight in black armor with the blue and yellow plume. Parsifal drew his lance from its lashings on his saddle and leveled it. "If you are on your way to the castle of Belrepeire, then please turn around and go home."

The knight stopped and stared. "Why should I?"

"It's not polite to ask impertinent questions," Parsifal said and charged. In a second, the knight was on the ground, a full ten feet behind his horse. "That's why you should go home," Parsifal added.

The knight leaped to his feet and drew his sword. "You shall pay for that, you dog!"

Parsifal did not hesitate. Drawing his own sword, he slid easily from the saddle and took his position. The black knight charged, and Parsifal parried his blow, feinted to the left, then struck from the right. The force of his blow sent the black knight stumbling forward to his knees. "Surely you can move faster than that," Parsifal said.

With a strangled cry, the knight leaped to his feet again and turned, only to have his sword struck from
his hand. Parsifal stepped back and let the knight pick up his sword. "You're much slower than Jean le Forestier," Parsifal commented. As soon as the black knight had his sword again, Parsifal lunged forward, struck the knight twice sharply on the helm. Then, while the echoes of the blows were still in the air, Parsifal stuck his own sword in the ground, lifted the black knight from the earth, and threw him into a ditch.

"Did Jean teach you that?" Piers asked. He hadn't watched very closely, but he didn't remember anyone being thrown around during the training sessions at the woodcutter's hut.

"No, I just thought of it myself," Parsifal replied, retrieving his sword.

The black knight charged again, more slowly this time, and Parsifal easily deflected his blow, stepped out of the knight's path, and landed a solid kick on the black knight's backside. The knight lurched forward, fell, and the visor of his helm ploughed a furrow in the dust of the path. There were knights all around, watching, but not one made a sound. The black knight rose shakily to his feet. "I ... have never been ... defeated."

Parsifal struck twice. At the first blow, he cut right through the blade of the black knight's sword. The second blow struck the knight's helm and drove him to his knees. "Yes, you have," Parsifal said calmly.

The knight's helm showed a deep dent where Parsifal's sword had hit it. Piers wondered idly if that helm could ever be repaired. It looked like a good helm, and it would be a shame for it to go to waste. Parsifal stood over his defeated opponent, who bowed his head and remained on his knees. There was a long silence; then Parsifal glanced over his shoulder at Piers.

"Pierre?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Now what do I do?"

Piers hadn't thought about that. He searched his memory of his mother's stories and vaguely remembered tales of knights sending defeated enemies to pay homage to someone. He said so to Parsifal.

"Oh, that's a good idea." Parsifal turned back to the knight. "King Clamide, I command you to go—"

"I'm not King Clamide."

"What?"

"I'm not Clamide."

"But they told me you were."

"Who told you?"

"Some of the knights up ahead."

The knight removed his helm and scowled over his shoulder. "You didn't happen to get the names of the chaps who told you so, did you?"

"No. I'm sorry. But they did say this was King Clamide's army."

"Oh, it's Clamide's army, all right. But I'm not him. I'm Sir Kingrun, his seneschal."

Parsifal frowned. "Which one is Clamide, then?"

"He's not here yet. He's coming along with a second wave of cavalry. I was supposed to take possession of the castle and have everything set for his triumphal entry."

"Well, you can't do it now."

"You don't say," Sir Kingrun said, disgust in his face. "Look here, can I get up?"

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

Piers shrugged. "Even if he's not Clamide, you did defeat him. You still ought to send him somewhere."

Parsifal nodded. "True. Sir Kingrun, I command you to go to Belrepeire and give honor to Queen Conduiramour."

"No, please," Sir Kingrun said quickly. "I've been laying siege to them for months. They'd kill me!"

Parsifal hesitated. "You think so?"

"Of course they would. Wouldn't you?"

"No."

"Well, I would. Can't you think of somewhere else for me to go?"

Parsifal glanced back again. "Pierre?"

"You could send him to Sir Gurnemains," Piers suggested.

Sir Kingrun choked. "That old fool? I'd rather you kill me yourself than make me bow down to him."

Parsifal smiled suddenly. "I've got it. I want you to go to King Arthur's court and do honor to the woman that Sir Kai slapped. I forget her name, so you'll have to ask around."

Sir Kingrun sighed. "Well, all right. I suppose I can do that. And who shall I say sent me?"

"My name is Parsifal." With an elegant bow, Parsifal extended his hand and said, "I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance."

Sir Kingrun looked incredulously at Parsifal's outstretched hand. At last he reached out and shook it weakly. "Charmed, I'm sure," he muttered.

At Parsifal's command, Sir Kingrun took his whole troop of knights with him as he turned west toward Camelot. Piers and Parsifal continued east.

Piers edged his horse as close to Parsifal's as he could and still be behind him. "It looked as if you defeated him very easily," Piers commented.

Parsifal nodded. "Yes. He must not be a very skilled knight, for he was ridiculously slow."

"He said that he had never been defeated," Piers reminded his master.

"Then he can't have had many fights," Parsifal replied.

They met up with King Clamide's army about an hour later. Parsifal had remembered to get a description of the king's armor from Sir Kingrun—painted
with gold and set with jewels—so this time he didn't have to stop anyone to ask directions. Instead, he simply pointed his lance and charged. The knights in the lead stopped so abruptly that some of them fell from their horses. Others wheeled and turned, and a few even made an effort to get to their own lances, but by the time anybody was ready to receive a charge, Parsifal was already past. Piers, who had been taken by surprise as much as the knights, simply held on to his hat and followed in the wide wake that Parsifal was leaving behind him.

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.

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.