Parsifal's Page (8 page)

Once or twice, when Piers was alone with Parsifal, he had delicately suggested that perhaps he and the queen would like to make a state visit to Camelot to see King Arthur, or one of the lesser kings in England, like King Mark of Cornwall. Even that would be interesting, Piers thought, because although King Mark was reputed to be a surly fellow, the famous Sir Tristram was in Cornwall. Piers would dearly love to meet some of the knights he had heard of in the stories.

Piers sighed and closed his window. It was only about five o'clock, but Parsifal and the queen ate their dinner unfashionably early, and one of the few jobs that Piers actually had was to serve their meal. He walked down to the kitchens, where the cook was dishing up a plain mutton stew with bread. Piers shook his head as he lifted the tray. To see such a common meal set before royalty would have broken Sir Gurnemains's heart.

Parsifal and his queen were sitting in the small dining room where they usually took their meals when Piers arrived. They were silent, which struck Piers as odd, because usually they were talking and laughing together when he arrived. Beyond a quiet, "Thank you, Pierre," neither spoke to him. Piers withdrew to his usual place at the wall, and watched with growing
consternation as the two ate almost their entire meal in silence. At last, as he pushed away his empty bowl, Parsifal spoke.

"Look, Connie, I
am
happy here."

Queen Conduiramour's voice was soft. "I had always thought so."

"And I
will
come back," Parsifal said firmly. Piers stared, suddenly intent on his master.

"But you won't say when?"

"I can't, Connie. I don't know when. It may take me a while to convince my mother to leave her home and join us here."

"And what if she won't? What if she wants you to stay? What will you do?"

"I will come back to you, Connie. I love you."

The queen looked at her half-finished meal for a moment, and when she looked back up, her eyes were bright with tears but she smiled. "I know, Parsifal. But I can't help feeling that there's some other reason that you want to leave."

This time it was Parsifal who hesitated before answering. "Maybe there is." He stood and walked to the window, looking down on the fields below, just as Piers had been doing twenty minutes before. "It is only that ... I left my mother and my home because I wanted to be a knight. I wanted to have adventures and do great deeds. I have done nothing."

"You saved me and the castle," Queen Conduiramour exclaimed.

"But it was too easy! The first knight fought poorly, and King Glamide did not fight at all. I won your victory without even trying. Should I not face some difficult tests before I settle into life with you?"

The queen looked sadder than ever, but she nodded. "I was afraid it might be that. You are king of this land, but I have noticed that you do not like to be called king."

"This is your kingdom, Connie. I want to earn my own titles."

"Then you must go," the queen said softly. "And I will miss you every day."

"And I will miss you," Parsifal said, taking her hand. He glanced over his shoulder at Piers.

"You coming with me, Pierre?"

"Yes, sir!" Piers said, delighted. Then, remembering that Parsifal's departure was a cause of sorrow to the queen, he quickly moderated his glee and, searching his memory for something suitable to say, added, "Your highness?" Queen Conduiramour looked at him. "Forgive me, your highness, but it is a noble thing that you do. He could not love you, queen, so much, loved he not honor more."

Queen Conduiramour and Parsifal looked at each other in silence for a moment, then dissolved in helpless laughter. Piers flushed and stood rigid until they had regained control of themselves. "Forgive us, Pierre," the queen said, "we meant no disrespect, but really, have you any notion how stupid that sounded?"

Not wanting to prolong their goodbyes, Piers and Parsifal left the next morning, heading east. "How long will it take us to get to your mother's home?" Piers asked.

"I don't know," Parsifal answered. "I don't even know which direction to take. You see, when I came here to look for King Arthur, I came from the Other World."

"What do you mean?"

"Where my mother lives, there are many doors to the Other World—the World of Faeries—and I often traveled there. It was in that world that I saw my first knight."

"There are knights in the Other World?"

"Not usually," Parsifal explained. "But this was a knight of King Arthur's court who was on a quest. I wrestled with him and then gave him directions."

"What knight of Arthur's court?" Piers asked, interested.

"I never asked his name. Anyway," Parsifal continued. "I went home to my mother to tell her that I wanted to be a knight. She did not want me to, but at last she consented, and I went back to the Other
World to look for this knight I had met. I didn't find him, but instead, I found a new doorway to the World of Men. It took me right to Arthur's camp, where we met."

Piers licked his lips. He had ridden up almost alongside Parsifal in his eagerness to hear more about the Other World, and he felt that he ought to return to his subservient position, but he had one more question to ask, one that he had not dared to ask in anyone else's presence. "Parsifal, in all your travels in the Other World, did you ever meet a faery named Ariel?"

Parsifal considered the question. "Male or female?"

"Female. About my age, I think."

Parsifal looked at Piers sharply. "You think? Do you mean that you've seen this faery?"

Piers nodded. "Unless it was a dream," he added.

"It hardly matters if it was," Parsifal replied. He smiled broadly. "I would not have thought it of you. You seem so much a part of this world that I should never have expected you to see one of the Others. No, Pierre, I know of no girl named Ariel in that world. Perhaps you can introduce me to her someday."

"If I see her again," Piers said glumly.

"I shouldn't worry about that," replied Parsifal. They rode over a small hill and from the summit looked down on a pond that was fed by a small stream. In the pond were two men, fishing from a little ketch.
One of the men, reclining in the stern, was wearing the most splendid purple clothing that Piers had ever beheld, more magnificent than anything at Arthur's court or at Sir Gurnemains's castle. Parsifal led the way to the edge of the pond.

"How do you do, sir," Parsifal said. "I hope you are well today."

"I hope so, too," the man in purple said, very softly "Have you come far?"

"Not so very far," Parsifal said. "I am looking for great deeds to do."

The man in the boat grimaced slightly, as if having a spasm of pain, and the other man in the boat said, "Dip your wrists in the water, Nuncle. It always gives you relief."

The man in purple did so and seemed to rest easier. He turned to Parsifal and said, "I do not know what you consider a great deed, but you may ask at the castle that is behind that hill there."

"Thank you, sir, I will," Parsifal said politely "Behind that hill."

"Yes. Just follow the water," the man said, sinking slowly back into the stern of the boat.

Parsifal rode alongside the small stream toward the hill. When they were past the two anglers, he looked back at Piers. "Do you think that man was ill?"

"I wondered, too," Piers said, "but I'm glad that
you didn't ask. Some people are very sensitive about their ailments. He could have been offended."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten
everything
that you and Sir Gurnemains taught me," Parsifal said lightly.

The hill toward which the fisherman had pointed was not very large around, but was quite tall—a sharp plug of rock jutting up from the ground. When Piers and Parsifal came round it, Piers saw to his surprise that the hill must be larger than it appeared, for behind it was a castle more magnificent than anything he had ever imagined. The two travelers stared. "Surely there are great deeds to do in such a place as that," Parsifal said eagerly.

They clopped over a tiny bridge and entered the castle gate. Three ladies stood in the entrance hall. "Welcome, sir," one said. "We have been waiting for you. I am bid to bring you to your rooms and thence to the feast."

"Feast?" Parsifal said. He leaned forward as if to ask more, but at the last second caught himself. He glanced at Piers and grinned ruefully. "You are very kind," he said to the lady.

The ladies led them to a large bedchamber and left them, promising to send someone for them soon. Piers helped Parsifal remove his armor. "This is mysterious, isn't it, Pierre?"

"Very," Piers assented.

"I think they have some secret here," Parsifal said firmly. "I can feel the magic of it." He pondered this for a moment, then added, "But I imagine that they'll tell us what it is when they're ready." Piers nodded his approval and surveyed his master. Even coming straight from a long ride, Parsifal looked fresh and elegant. Piers was proud of him.

A slight tapping came from the door, and then an impish face peeked in. Piers recognized the man who had been in the boat with the magnificent fisherman. "Yes?" Parsifal asked.

"Oo, ye're not up to much, are ye?" the man said, wrinkling his face. He stepped into the room, and Piers saw that he was wearing the motley multi-colored garb of a royal fool. "I was thinking ye'd be so grand, but here ye be, a mere sprat of a boy." He reached across and patted Piers's head. "Ye looked bigger in yere armor, son.

Piers stepped back distastefully, and Parsifal said, "
I
was the one in the armor, fellow."

"Ah, that's better, think on. But even so—" The man turned his scrutiny to Parsifal. "Ye don't look like so much yereself. Can ye do this?" With a sudden leap, the man flipped himself over into a handstand and began walking around the room on his arms, clucking like a chicken.

Piers and Parsifal stared at the man with consternation, but they said nothing. At last the man righted
himself, looked back at the two and said, "Nay, ye're neither one worth a dram. 'Twere better if ye'd never come. Ye haven't even asked my name or my business."

Parsifal replied with dignity. "I assume that your business is to lead us to the feast. As for your name, I care not what to call such a frippery fellow."

Piers felt himself swell with pride, and he wished Sir Gurnemains had been present to hear his pupil reply so masterfully to this impertinent jester. The man stuck his tongue out and made the rude gesture called a "fig" at Parsifal, but then he turned on his heel and led the way out the door. Piers and Parsifal followed, and in a few minutes were led into a grand banquet hall filled with people in gorgeous raiment.

"I've brought them in, Nuncle," the man shouted. "For all the bleeding good they'll be. 'Twill all be for nought, I fear me."

Piers followed the man's eyes and saw at the head of a long table, propped up by pillows on a dais, the fisherman who had directed them to the castle. The fisherman wore a gold circlet on his forehead, a crown. With a slight wave, the fisherman king beckoned to Parsifal and waved him into a seat beside the dais. Parsifal took his seat, and Piers assumed his position behind Parsifal's chair.

"I am glad that you've come," the fisherman king said. His voice was grainy and weak. Ladies and courtiers who were gathered all around looked at
him anxiously. One lady, who had an air of authority, waved an arm toward the great open door at the other end of the hall, and then began the strangest procession Piers had ever seen.

First, through the door walked a page, about Piers's age, carrying a long lance. As they drew close, Piers saw with horror that the point of the lance was streaming with blood, as if the blood were welling out of the lance itself. The fisherman king closed his eyes and looked away, then nodded. The page gently pointed the lance at the fisherman king's upper thigh. Looking hard, Piers thought he could see blood on the fisherman king's clothing there. Then, with a firm thrust, the page pushed the point of the lance into the king's leg. Fresh blood welled up from a wound, the king grimaced with pain, and Parsifal started to rise from his chair in alarm, but then the king relaxed. The page withdrew, and the king seemed to breathe more easily.

Before Piers had time to wonder about what he had just witnessed, two young girls came whirling wildly into the room. They seemed to be dressed entirely in flowers, and flower petals flew from their fingertips as they danced. A sweet perfume filled the hall. The girls left a shower of petals on the fisherman king and then disappeared behind him. Following on their heels, but walking much more sedately, came four
regal ladies in matching white robes, each carrying a lit candelabrum.

Parsifal, who had reluctantly settled himself back in his chair leaned toward Piers. Piers inclined his head. "Do you think they'll explain all this later?" Parsifal whispered.

"I don't know," Piers replied. He was urgently curious himself. He wanted desperately to ask for an explanation.

Parsifal took a deep breath, then whispered, "If they don't tell us tonight, then tomorrow I will have to ask." Piers nodded vigorously. It was a good compromise, he decided, between good manners and good sense.

The ladies with the candelabra stood on the dais with the fisherman king, and two more ladies appeared, these in gowns that shone like silver, and they each bore a long, glittering knife. Piers could not look away from the two knives. At a glance he knew that they were perfectly balanced and from the glint on the edge he decided that they were sharp enough to slice a man's finger to the bone before he'd even felt the cut. They shone more brightly than any steel he'd ever seen at his father's forge, and he realized with a start that these knives must be made of silver. The hafts of the knives, or at least the part that showed beneath the ladies' hands, were curiously wrought with delicate metalwork that Piers longed to examine more
closely. Had Parsifal not decided to ask for explanations in the morning, Piers would have been unable to restrain his need to know more about these brilliant blades.

Finally, one last lady entered, bearing something on an earthen tray. Piers stared, but he could not tell exactly what it was: the woman carried it on a tray as if it were a vessel of some sort, but it seemed to Piers more like a simple stone, roughly and irregularly cut, of the sort that anyone might find tossed aside by workmen at a quarry. The lady laid the stone on the table before the fisherman king, who sighed, looked once at the object, then lay back on his pillow and went to sleep.