The knight charged, and Gawain parried the flashing sword with the table. A deep chip flew from the edge, but the table held. Again the knight attacked, and again Gawain warded off the blow, leaving the chessboard nicked a second time. "Piers," Gawain hissed. "See if there's a door behind that arras."
Piers nodded and ducked across the room. Behind him he heard the sound of another sword blow on the table, but he did not look back. He tore at the long, hanging drapes, which ripped entirely from their hangings and collapsed in a dust cloud at Piers's feet. There was no door behind it. Piers whirled about, still holding one end of the arras in his hand and saw Gawain deflect another sword stroke with his chess table shield.
"Get away while you can, Piers!" Gawain shouted, gesturing to the door they had come in, but Piers only looked about for something else to throw at the knight. Then Sir Virgil swung a mighty blow down onto the table shield and split it into two. Without hesitating, Gawain shifted his grip to the largest half and swung it like a club into his foe. Sir Virgil took a quick step backwards, and Piers threw the arras over his head. Gawain, seeing Sir Virgil blinded by the drape, threw himself against the knight and knocked him sprawling on the floor.
Then the door burst open, and Waleis the Reeve entered, brandishing his own sword. "What's going on, Virgil?"
"This ... this knight killed father," the knight said hoarsely, through the folds of the arras.
"No, he didn't," Waleis snapped. The reeve stooped over his master and whipped the drape from his face. "Put that sword down at once! I promised this knight that he'd be safe here."
"I have to avenge father," the knight said brokenly, sitting up.
Waleis spoke in a milder tone, but still firmly. "Your father just died, Virgil. It's not this knight's fault, not your fault, not anybody's fault. Leave this knight alone."
Sir Virgil lowered his sword, then bowed his head and began to cry. Waleis jerked his head toward the door and said to Gawain, "I'll stay with him now. There's not much of him left, but we were boys together, and he's still my master."
Gawain nodded. He set down the split table and led Piers out the door and back down the hall to their bedchamber. Neither spoke until they had closed the door behind them, and then Gawain said softly, "Poor Sir Virgil." He looked briefly at Piers. "You did well in there, Piers. Very well indeed. Pawn takes knight."
Piers carried those words with him to sleep.
The next morning they took their leave of the gruff Waleis and the very glum Lady Antigone, who was sporting a terrific goose-egg on her brow, and rode into the forest, where Terence was waiting for them. "I hope you've had a pleasant evening, Terence," Gawain said acidly.
"Why, yes, thank you," said Terence. "And you?"
"Splendid," Gawain muttered. "Very restful."
Terence glanced knowingly at his friend. "Whatever happened, you don't seem any the worse for wear."
Gawain snorted and favored Terence with a pithy account of the previous evening's goings-on. When the tale was done, Terence nodded approvingly at Piers. Gawain concluded his story, saying, "I suppose Sir Virgil is too fragile for the grief of this world."
"Grief is not confined to this world," Terence said.
"But enough of our story," Gawain said. "What have you been doing? Did you ever find where that uncanny feeling was coming from?"
Terence shook his head, but his face was calm. "No. We're being followed by someone from the Seelie Court, but whoever it is wasn't looking for me. I met no one, and by the time I gave up, it was late so I simply made camp in the woods." When Terence mentioned the Seelie Court, Piers jumped and glanced quickly around them at the forest. All was still and calm. Terence continued. "Now I wonder why it is," he said musingly, "that our young companion did not ask me to explain what the Seelie Court is. Do you suppose he already knows, milord?"
Gawain grinned, but said nothing. Piers looked down, feeling almost guilty for not telling his friends about his encounter with the little sprite Ariel, but it was too private. After a moment, Terence looked at Gawain and said, "What about the quest, milord? Did you get any word of this elusive red knight?"
"No."
For the rest of the morning, they rode through forests so thick that they had to travel single-file. Piers purposely took the last position so that he could look about him unobtrusively for some sign of an Other Worldly messenger. He saw nothing, but the same sense of anticipation that he had felt the day before began to grow. At noon they stopped for a short rest and a meal, and while Piers built a fire Gawain and Terence disappeared into the woods.
"Piers!"
Piers jumped and whirled around. There, in the underbrush, was Ariel. Piers smiled joyously and hurried into the woods beside her. She greeted him with a smile and held out her hand. Piers did not hesitate, but grasped it, noting with interest that her hand was as warm and solid as his own. He'd never thought about how a faery might feel. "Hello, Ariel," Piers said.
Ariel blushed. "I wasn't sure you'd remember my name," she said.
Piers could only stare at her—as if he'd ever gone an hour without wondering about her! For some reason that he could not quite put into words, he knew that he would never like or trust anyone else the way he did this little faery. It wasn't love—at least, it was nothing like the silly mixture of attraction and competition that he had seen in Malchance and Obie, and nothing at all like the repugnant hot and cold emotion that existed between Duke Orilus and Lady Jeschute—it was just that he liked her. "Of course I remember your name. I remember everything that you told me. Although," he added, "that's not saying much."
Ariel smiled and sat on a mossy log, spreading her simple white shift over her lap with her free hand. Piers sat beside her. "What would you like to know?" she asked.
"Everything."
Ariel giggled. "I don't have time for everything. Besides, most of everything is boring. Let me see. My name is Ariel, and my mother is named Nimue. She's the most beautiful creature in any world. My father is named Myrddin. As for the rest, I've had a terribly dull life. Mother never even let me visit this world until just recently. I had found the mouth of the cave by myself, you know, by the waterfall, and I thought it wouldn't hurt anything to just go out and take a look. I knew I was safe as long as I stayed in the water. That's when you appeared and scared me to death."
"Sorry."
"I was so afraid that I'd done something terrible, but when I told Mother, she said that now I was old enough, and that's when she let me go back to give you those instructions."
'"Follow the water,"' Piers said. He realized guiltily that he hadn't thought about the instructions since that night. He'd been too busy thinking about Ariel. "What did those instructions mean?"
Ariel shrugged. "I was hoping you would know. Mother says you have the look of someone from a great family."
"But I'm not," Piers said. "My father is a blacksmith, and my mother is a retired lady-in-waiting. I'm from about as un-great a family as you can be from."
"Mother's usually right about these things," Ariel said doubtfully. "But I can ask her again."
There was a rustling in the brush not far away, and Ariel jumped. "Oh! No one but you is supposed to see me!"
"Then it was you following us yesterday and this morning!" Piers whispered. "I was almost sure it was. Did you have to hide from Terence?"
"Is that the squire who came looking for me?" Ariel asked. Piers nodded. "Yes, although I hated to do it. He looked half like he was from the Seelie Court himself." There was another rustling, and Piers heard Gawain's voice. "Quickly!" Ariel whispered. "You're to go due north, along the coast toward Scotland, to a hermit's cottage. The man you're looking for is there." Ariel gave Piers's hand a gentle squeeze, and then slipped away. Piers watched until she came to a small brook, and then she disappeared, like mist.
When Piers stepped out of the underbrush into the camp, Terence and Gawain were sprawled comfortably beneath a tree. "Well?" Terence said. "Did your friend tell us which way
to go?"
Piers gave a tiny nod. "North," he said, and neither Gawain nor Terence asked anything more.
Three days later, as they rode through a peaceful, airy wood, Terence pulled up suddenly.
"What is it, lad?" asked Gawain.
"Now I know where we are," Terence said abruptly. "This has been looking familiar for over an hour. We're in the Gentle Wood, where Trevisant's hermitage is."
"Hermitage?" Piers demanded suddenly. "But that's it! That's where we're to go! Ar—my friend said to go to a hermit's cottage."
Terence grinned broadly. "Just follow me!" he said, kicking his horse into a gallop.
Half an hour later they pulled up in a dusty yard outside a small stone house. An ancient man was dipping water from a well, but he walked unsteadily over to greet the visitors.
"Trevisant!" Terence shouted joyfully. He threw himself from his saddle and ran across the yard to embrace the man. Trevisant returned Terence's embrace, then held the squire at arm's length and looked into his face.
"Now let me see," the hermit said. "Do I know you?"
Terence's smile disappeared, and he looked stricken. Then the squire took a sharp breath, and his chin dropped onto his chest. "Of course," Terence said. "I never thought of that."
"What is, lad?" Gawain asked.
"You remember Trevisant's peculiarity, don't you, milord? That he sees the past the way we see the future and the future the way we see the past."
"I see," Gawain said. "You mean that he doesn't remember you."
"Or else has never met me," Terence said softly.
Trevisant inclined his head. "I must indeed know you," he said. "For you certainly know me."
"I do know you, sir. I grew up here. You raised me from the time I was a baby until I was a youth. You were father to me."
The old man touched Terence's cheek with one gnarled finger. "And I don't remember you. I am so sorry, my son."
Terence's face contorted, but his voice was steady. "It doesn't matter. I would care for you if you remembered nothing at all."
Trevisant smiled brightly. "What a lovely thing to say. I must have raised you well."
They all laughed, although it was a strained sort of laugh, and the old man burst into a fit of coughing that actually doubled him over. Terence supported him while he coughed, and when the paroxysm had passed, led him to a bench in the sun.
"That did not sound very good, sir," Terence said. "Have you been coughing like that for long?"
Trevisant smiled again. "It is funny that you should have just now said something about my remembering nothing at all. Because the time is soon when that will be true."
"Are you ... are you sure?" Terence asked quickly. Trevisant only smiled, and Terence nodded. "Of course you're sure."
The old man laid one hand on Terence's arm. "Please don't distress yourself. Remember, I've always known how it would end with me. It will be soon, and it will be peaceful. I have just completed my final task."
Gawain, who had dismounted, stood before Trevisant, holding Guingalet's reins. "What task was that, sir?" It struck Piers that in all their days together, he could not remember that Gawain had called anyone "sir" until now.
"I have shown my book to Parsifal," the old man said.
Terence and Gawain and Piers all looked at each other. At last Gawain asked, "Is Parsifal still here?"
"Oh, no. He left ... I'm not sure. It may have been this morning, or perhaps yesterday morning. If it had been longer ago than that, I would have forgotten."
"Where has he gone?" Gawain asked.
"I do not know. My book might tell you. Perhaps you, son, would go inside and get it. It will answer many questions, I hope."
Terence went inside. Piers could hear him moving things around. After a minute, he reappeared in the doorway holding a heavy book with thick vellum pages. "I never saw this book, in all the years I lived with you," Terence commented. "I wonder where you had it hidden."
"Well, you can't expect me to know," Trevisant said. "Read it."
Terence opened the book and read.
"My name is called Sir Trevisant, Knight Templar of the Schloss Munsalvaesche, prince of the blood, brother to the noblest of all kings, the good king Anfortas, who unto this day livest in torment, and whose land he laid waste in mourning for his grief
"I write my name because I know not if in the days to come I shall remember even that, for what hath come unto me is like unto what hath come upon no other mortal. My birth, my childhood, all are slipping from me, and though I need them not in my new life, I must not forget what hath brought me to this place in the Gentle Wood.
"My brother Anfortas is King over Munsalvaesche, at the very navel of two worlds, a door between the World of Men and the World of Faeries that shall not close until that time when every such door is closed. On a day not so very long ago, Anfortas rode alone into the woods and met a lone knight. This knight was very like unto Anfortas, the same in every feature and every manner of speech, save that his face was dark and his hair white, the same and yet the opposite. The lone knight challenged Anfortas in such churlish fashion that Anfortas was wonderly amazed, and he did take up the challenge and thus brought upon himself and all the land great misery.
"For the knight gave Anfortas a grievous wound, leaving him nigh unto death, but then a good enchanter named Ganscotter came unto the castle and gave our assembly a great magic which is called the Grail, and whenever Anfortas sets eyes on this Grail, his life is preserved for yet another time. Before he left, the enchanter said that only the One Who Had Been Chosen might heal the king.
"I was a young knight then, and proud. I did not believe the enchanter's words and rode after the knight who had wounded my brother to fight him. I found him and was able to take his lance from him, but I could not overcome him. I returned to Munsalvaesche with the lance, swearing that some day I should heal my brother and restore the land.
"To this end I and my sister Herzeloyde and a faithful servant, the great armorer Trebuchet, set out together to find this One Who Had Been Chosen. I will not repeat all of our trials, for they were greater and more grievous than I care to remember, and I am relieved that soon I shall be spared those memories forever. My sister left our quest first, for she was weary of the endless barren search, and married a knight of Anjou. Then I, too, despaired, and I took a vow to spend my life as a lowly hermit, fasting and praying for my brother's deliverance. Only the good metalworker Trebuchet continued the quest, leaving me here to my prayers.
"And as I prayed, I asked that I might have some sign by which I might know if my brother would ever be whole, and Ganscotter himself came to me. He said to me that my prayers had been heard, and I should be permitted to see the future, if only I should be willing to give up the past. The past I cared nothing for. I agreed.
"And now, each day, I lose more of my memories and see farther into the future. Soon, I believe I will see what I have so longed to see and forget what I have so longed to forget. This I write, swearing to its truth, and sign with my own name, Sir Trevisant of Munsalvaesche."
Terence put down the book and they all looked at Trevisant, who had fallen into a peaceful sleep. "May he see pleasant things, as he dreams the world that is to come," Terence said softly.
"So he was a knight," Gawain murmured. Then he looked back at Terence. "What do you make of that tale, Terence?"
Terence shook his head. "Ganscotter we know, of course, but I have heard none of the other names."
"I've heard of the smith, Trebuchet," Gawain commented. "They say that there are no weapons like the ones he made."
"Who is Ganscotter?" Piers asked.
Terence looked at Piers for a long time before answering. "He is my father."
Piers nodded. "I think I understand, now," he said softly.
"You do?" Gawain asked.
Choosing his words with care, Piers described the castle of the Grail—Munsalvaesche, he supposed—and the strange procession that he and Parsifal ha
d witnessed there. He told of the bleeding lance, the flowers and candles, the silver knives of Trebuchet, and finally of the Grail itself. Then he told of Parsifal's silence and the tirade delivered the next morning by the man in motley. "He said that we might have healed the king, but had failed. That was why Parsifal sent me away. I was the one who taught him not to ask questions."
"I see," Terence said.
"And there's one more thing," Piers said. "Your friend Trevisant mentioned his sister, Lady Herzeloyde."
"Yes?" asked Terence.
"That is the name of Parsifal's mother."
VIII. The Château Merveile
The road through the Gentle Wood went north and south, and since the three travelers had not passed Parsifal on the trail as they came from the south, they decided to continue north. They settled this that evening in Trevisant's cottage, while Trevisant slept fitfully on his bed. When they finished talking, Terence leaned back in his chair and said, "I'm glad you'll have Piers with you, milord."
Gawain smiled. "You'll not be going with us, then?" He did not sound surprised.
Terence glanced at the hermit and shook his head. "I'll catch up with you when I can."
Gawain looked at Piers. "I hope you can cook better than I can, lad."
They left at dawn, Gawain expressing the desire to catch up to Parsifal as soon as possible. Remembering Parsifal's penchant for riding hard all day, Piers did not think they would, but he said nothing. As they rode through the woods, it struck him that even in his wildest childhood dreams he had never imagined going on a quest as the sole companion of the great Sir Gawain, but he only shrugged at the thought. Questing wasn't as glamorous as he had supposed. Nor, in fact, was Gawain, but Piers realized that he much preferred the real Gawain, with his ready smile and casual manners, to the hero of the stories.
Shortly after midday, they rode into a clearing where a lady wearing one of those impractical conical hats with a streamer tied at the top was wailing wretchedly over a knight's body. Seeing Gawain's approach, she wailed louder.