Parsifal's Page Page 13

  After a very long time, Guingalet lurched up, his hooves having struck the gravelly shore. Piers could not tell if this was the island or the opposite riverbank, but it seemed to be about the right distance from the dark mass of the castle behind him. He tethered Guingalet to a dead tree that lay on the bank and walked resolutely into the blackness of the woods.

  Reminding himself that he was not a child anymore and was far too old to be frightened of the dark helped for a little while, but when things skittered through the brush at his feet, he still jumped, and his heart still pounded wildly. Thorny branches clawed at his clothes, and twice he had to stop and disentangle his hat from their briars. This was no garden, Piers reflected, but he pushed on. The wind moaned in a hollow tree beside him, and Piers's legs felt weak. He took several deep breaths and reminded himself severely that if he was going to be afraid, he should be afraid of the very real knight who guarded the garland and not of imaginary horrors.

  He stumbled out of the underbrush and found himself in a level grassy clearing. The black trees, stark against the gray night sky, formed a perfect circle around the open area. This must be the garden. Piers looked anxiously about, but he saw nothing moving. He raised Gawain's sword and slowly began to walk toward the center of the garden. Rounding a dark hedge, he stubbed his toe on something hard, and fell on his face.

  "Who's there?" demanded a rough voice. Piers leaped to his feet, and saw a human shape rise from the ground. Piers had tripped over a resting knight. "Who are you?" the knight said.

  "I'm ... nobody, sir," Piers stammered.

  "Why are you here?" the knight demanded. The knight was as large as Gawain. "Why do you disturb my sleep?"

  Piers hesitated, then replied honestly. "I was looking for an enchanted garland that will help someone achieve his quest."

  "This is the place," the knight said, and he drew his sword. "I am its guardian."

  Piers swallowed and held his own sword ready. "I understand, sir," he said.

  The knight lowered his sword. "How old are you, boy?"

  "Twelve, sir."

  "Go away. I do not fight children."

  "But I need the garland," Piers said.

  "Nevertheless, I am sworn to defend it," the knight said. "And you cannot have it. It's hanging right over my head, and I will not move."

  Piers looked up, and there it was, hanging from a thin branch of a slender sapling. The moon came out from behind a cloud suddenly, and in the white light Piers saw a vague pinkish tinge on the flowers. He saw something else, too. There was a long, exposed leather strap that extended from the knight's helm to his breastplate. It was like the armor that Sir Ither had been wearing when he rode up to Piers's father's forge. Piers thought quickly back to that scene. His father had scoffed at the armor and had pointed out that the leather strap was a fatal flaw in its design. Piers lowered his sword.

  "All right, sir," he said. "Since you're in armor, and I am not, I suppose I have no choice."

  "That's a sensible boy," the knight said. He too lowered his sword, and Piers leaped forward, stretching Gawain's sword out as far as he could reach. Had Gawain's sword been heavier or clumsier, Piers's inexperienced hands could never have aimed right, but the sword went true. With a quick slash, Piers cut through the leather strap that held the helm in place.

  The knight stepped quickly backwards and raised his sword again, but almost at once his hands went to his helm. Without its tether, the helm was loose on the knight's head, and it was already twisted to one side, making it hard for the knight to see. Piers ran forward, leaped up and grasped the garland, then sprinted back into the forest. He heard the knight shout behind him, but then he was in the woods where his size and quickness were to his advantage. All Piers had to do now was find Guingalet.

  It took longer than he'd expected. The branches and briars whipped at his face and, again, tore at his hat, but at last Piers stumbled out of the woods onto the shore, where Guingalet stood waiting. Piers jerked the reins free from the log and threw himself into the saddle. As if he sensed Piers's urgency, Guingalet bunched his mighty muscles and launched himself into the river. Horse and rider landed with a terrific splash, and both sank for a moment completely under the surface. Panicking, Piers flailed about and lost his grip on the garland. Then Guingalet began to swim, and Piers's head came out of the water. To his left, already moving away on the current, was the garland, and Piers lunged for it, grabbing it just before it disappeared. Another few seconds of frantic splashing and Piers was back in Guingalet's saddle, garland in one hand, sword in the other.

  And far away to the left, bright in the moonlight but disappearing quickly downstream, bobbed Piers's scarlet hat.

  Shivering in his wet clothes, Piers rubbed Guingalet dry in the castle stable, then hurried back to his room. There he carefully hid the garland before creeping into Gawain's room to return the sword. The sun was just rising above the horizon as he slid the great sword back into its scabbard, and in the light of the new day Piers saw a curious design at the very end of the sword's hilt. It was a familiar mark, an elaborate letter T.

  Two days later, now being well enough for some exercise, Gawain joined Piers for a stroll on the battlements overlooking the river. Piers had been waiting his chance to ask Gawain where he had gotten his sword. Gawain smiled softly. "It was a gift, of course."

  "Who from? Did the blacksmith who made it...?"

  "No simple blacksmith ever made this sword, Piers," Gawain said with a laugh. "This is the Sword Galatine, and it was given to me years ago by none other than Nimue herself. There is no sword like it, save only Arthur's Excalibur."

  "Did Nimue say where she had gotten—"

  "Hang on, Piers," Gawain said abruptly. "What's going on across the river?"

  Piers looked. In the broad field where Gawain had defeated Sir Lejoie and had recovered Guingalet, a long line of knights had just pulled up. There were pennants, and in the distance Piers could see wagons and still more knights.

  "It's too far to make out the heraldry," Gawain mused. "But this is no simple hunting party. That looks like an army. Come on, Piers."

  Over Piers's protests, Gawain put on his chain mail, belted on his sword, and headed toward the stables. "Look, Gawain, you can't go facing an army by yourself. What good can you do?" Piers argued as they crossed the courtyard.

  "I'm just going to ask these people what they want, Piers, and let them know that there is at least one knight here ready to defend the castle."

  "That should scare them," Piers muttered. "I suppose I'd better go with you. Get your gear, and I'll meet you back here."

  Piers hurried back to his own room, collected his few possessions and carefully packed the Questing Garland, then joined Gawain at the gate. Together they rode out to where Mazadan and the sullen Sir Lejoie stood by their ferry. Mazadan met them and agreed to take them across. There was a low mist rising from the river, which was actually quite a thick fog at the very center, but before long they were across. They led their horses off the ferry onto the shore, and Piers glanced behind him. "Gawain!" he gasped.

  "What is it?" Gawain said quickly. His sword was in his hand.

  "The castle! It's gone!" Behind them was only a river. There was no ferry, no ferryman, and no Château Merveile.

  Gawain put his sword back in its sheath. "It looks as if we've made the crossing back to the World of Men," he said quietly. "Shall we go see what we've drawn?"

  X. The Knight in the Snow

  Piers and Gawain walked together up the foggy riverbank toward the field where they had seen the knights setting up camp. There was no wind, but a bitter cold settled over Piers, and he began to shiver. "Gawain, I'm cold."

  "Ay," Gawain said. "It seems to be winter in this world."

  "But how can that be? It was late spring when we left it just a fortnight ago."

  Gawain chuckled. "Once Terence and I spent a few months in the Other World, and when we crossed back, found that seven years had passed. You never
know how things are moving along when you're away." Gawain stopped suddenly. "Hush!"

  Piers halted and listened. Through the fog came the sound of a man's voice, raised in an angry tirade. "Gawain?" said Piers, "I think I've heard that voice before."

  "You have, Piers. That sounds like Kai. Let's go see."

  And so it was. Gawain led Piers up to the camp, and a voice called out, "Who's that?"

  "Is that you, Dinadan?" Gawain asked. "It's Gawain and Piers the pageboy."

  "So you've turned up again, have you?" the voice replied. "I thought maybe this time I'd get my chance to write that funeral dirge I've been planning for you. I've a lovely melody in mind."

  "Maybe next time. Is Arthur in the camp?"

  "Ay. We're off to Oxford this time. Hardly worthwhile to have a castle at all, the way we're always wandering off to the provinces." The knight's voice had a mocking tone, but then he added, more seriously, "The king will be glad to see you."

  "What's all this jabbering?" snapped Sir Kai, who had approached unseen through the fog. "If you fought half as well as you talk, Dinadan—"

  "Perish the thought!" Sir Dinadan replied lightly. "Talking's safer. I was just greeting the returned prodigal." Sir Dinadan bowed deeply to Gawain and waved an arm at Sir Kai. "O prodigal, behold the fatted calf."

  Sir Kai growled and stepped toward Sir Dinadan, but Gawain said, "Hello, Kai," and Sir Kai halted.

  "Gawain?"

  "Ay. Could you take me to Arthur?"

  King Arthur received them with pleasure, but Sir Kai showed no sign of sharing the king's feelings, especially when Gawain admitted that, while he had had many adventures, he had not found the red knight.

  "You haven't?" Sir Kai said with a snort. "Well, what use are all the adventures in the world if you don't do what you set out to do?"

  Gawain glanced at Sir Kai and raised his eyebrows, but the king spoke calmly. "I shall be very glad to hear of your travels, nephew. You are welcome." Then the king turned to Piers. "As are you, friend. Forgive me, but have you, ah, mislaid your hat?"

  Gawain turned toward Piers. "Say, that's right. What have you done with your red hat?"

  "I lost it," Piers said quietly.

  King Arthur turned to Gawain. "And where is Terence?"

  "We left him along the way," Gawain replied.

  Sir Kai snorted. "Can't even keep up with everyone you took with you, much less find that cursed knight."

  Gawain and Piers traveled with the royal procession toward Oxford, where Arthur intended to celebrate the Christmas feast. It was a three-day journey, and by the second day, Piers had learned from the other servants in the company that it was best to stay out of Sir Kai's orbit. The seneschal was in a constant state of ill temper.

  Piers witnessed Sir Kai's temper himself on the evening of the second day. He was bringing a load of firewood back from the forest when he heard Sir Kai's voice. Mindful of the other servants' warnings, Piers stepped into the shadow of large holly bush. "You should not be out here alone, my lady," Sir Kai said abruptly to someone Piers could not see.

  "You are right," replied a woman's voice. "I should not be out here alone."

  There was a long pause, then Sir Kai said, "I only meant it was not safe. There may be wolves in the forest."

  "How thoughtful of you," the lady said, her tone ironic. "I suppose you'd rather I was back in the tent with the other ladies, discussing fashions and furbelows."

  "You would be safer there."

  "I'd rather be eaten by wolves. Leave me alone."

  Sir Kai's voice, which had grown comparatively gentle, became harsh again. "Let me tell you, Lady Connoire, that there's nothing I'd rather do than leave you alone. But if you get eaten, I'll get the blame for it, just as I get the blame for everything else that happens to you."

  The woman laughed. "You mean like when you got blamed for the time that you slapped me in the face? Oh, such injustice!" she retorted.

  "Sometimes I think my only mistake was that I didn't hit you hard enough," snapped Sir Kai. He turned on his heel and stalked back to the camp. Lady Connoire watched him go. As soon as Sir Kai was out of sight, she raised her chin and followed him. Piers let his breath out in a long sigh, then followed them both.

  They reached Oxford early on the third day. Although it was snowing, the king set up a tent camp outside the city walls by the main road. Piers soon saw why. Crowds of townsmen and peasants began to gather to pay homage to the king or to ask him for a boon. King Arthur was holding court for the common people among his subjects. It was a busy time for King Arthur and his closest advisors, including Sir Kai, but the other members of the royal company were free to wander about as they wished. For a while Piers listened to Sir Dinadan sing a long ballad about Sir Tristram, but although Sir Dinadan sang well and played his stringed rebec with considerable skill, Piers soon lost interest and wandered away to watch the king's farrier at work.

  Just at dusk, as Sir Kai was dismissing the crowd outside King Arthur's tent, and knights and ladies were beginning to make their way into the city to the banquet hall of Oxford castle for the Christmas feast, Piers came upon a sudden commotion. A small group was clustered together, pointing across a snow-covered field, and whispering together: "Do you think it's a challenge?" "Then why doesn't he move?" "Shouldn't we tell the king?"

  At the far edge of the field, by a snowdrift, a solitary knight sat on his horse. Though he was far away and in the shadow of a huge spruce, something in his bearing spoke of many miles and great weariness. The knight held a lance, unadorned, but he did not move. He almost seemed to be asleep.

  "Well, dash it all," muttered a knight beside Piers. It was an affable and rather portly knight whose name, Piers had learned, was Sir Sagramore. Sir Sagramore alone of all the group was in armor. "We can't just ignore him, and you lads in your party clothes can't go and face him. One of you tell Arthur what's about, and I'll go see what this quiet chap wants. Give me a lance, someone."

  A minute later, Sir Sagramore was riding across the white field. As he drew near, the strange knight moved for the first time, lowering his lance carelessly to point at Sir Sagramore's chest. Sir Sagramore halted, and Piers could hear him calling something to the knight, but the knight neither answered nor moved his lance. At last Sir Sagramore's patience ended, and he lowered his own lance and charged. At first the strange knight did not move at all, but then he shifted his weight slightly and urged his tired horse into a slow trot, and then Sir Sagramore flew from his horse's back and landed heavily in the snow.

  The crowd at Arthur's camp was accustomed to seeing the finest jousting in the kingdom, but at this casual unseating of Sir Sagramore, a hush fell over them all. Piers heard a low whistle behind him and then Gawain's voice saying, "That, my boy, was not so easy as yon knight made it look. I wonder who the fellow is."

  Piers answered immediately. When the strange knight had trotted forward, Piers had seen his armor clearly. "It's Parsifal," he said.

  "Parsifal? The red knight?" Gawain exclaimed. People nearby heard, and an excited buzz rose from the growing crowd. By this time everyone knew about the mysterious knight who sent his vanquished foes to Lady Connoire. Piers watched Parsifal return to his spot in the shadows and again become immobile. Sir Sagramore rose from the snowdrift into which he had fallen and, casting one look at the silent knight, limped back to the camp. The murmuring stopped as Sir Sagramore approached, and everyone leaned forward to hear what Sir Sagramore would say.

  The portly knight removed his helm and looked ruefully at his eager audience. "That should teach him a lesson," he said.

  A sudden clatter of hoofbeats came from the camp, and the onlookers made way for a knight on horseback carrying a lance. It was Sir Kai. "Is it true?" Sir Kai demanded. "Is it the red knight?" When this was confirmed, Sir Kai lowered his helm, pointed his lance, and started across the field.

  "Go ahead, Kai," Sir Sagramore called. "I've taken the edge off him for you."

  Piers caught hi
s breath, fearing for Parsifal. He had dispatched Sir Sagramore very neatly and, to all appearances, without effort, but Sir Kai was a different matter. Once again, Parsifal seemed to be oblivious of the attacking knight until the last minute, when he lowered his lance, spurred his mount forward, and struck Sir Kai so solidly that Piers heard Sir Kai's grunt, even across the distance. As if he had ridden into a low tree branch, Sir Kai flew over his horse's hindquarters and landed awkwardly on his side. Parsifal returned to the shadows, and Sir Kai lay still.

  "Well, go and help him, somebody!" demanded a woman's voice. It was Lady Connoire. Two knights hurried across the snow to where Sir Kai lay, and then one ran back.

  "His arm's broken for sure, maybe his leg, too," the knight said. Lady Connoire, standing beside Piers, uttered a very unladylike oath and began to stride across the field. The knight who had returned gathered several men and took a hard pallet from a nearby tent, and they followed her.

  Now King Arthur himself arrived. He stilled the hubbub of excited explanations, then turned to Gawain and asked what had transpired. Gawain told him. "So this is Parsifal," the king said softly. "And why do you suppose he is attacking us?"

  "He isn't," Gawain said immediately. "All he's done is defend himself. Piers, go get my horse."

  "You're not in armor," the king said. "You can't fight like that."

  "I don't intend to fight," Gawain said.

  Piers fetched Guingalet, but he brought his own horse as well. Gawain glanced at it and raised his eyebrows. "We started on this quest together," Piers said. Gawain nodded, and they mounted.