Parsifal's Page

  Sir Kai looked again at the young man, and this time his eyes showed a glint of interest. "Ay, my boy. That you do."

  "I like red," the youth added earnestly.

  Sir Ither spoke suddenly. "I shall wait for Arthur. Direct me to his tent."

  "No," Sir Kai said. He looked coldly at Sir Ither and folded his arms.

  Just then two women stepped out of the largest of the tents. Both were clad in gorgeous silk dresses, the sort that Piers's mother had described in such loving detail. The taller, and more beautiful, of the two spoke. "What is it, Kai?" She was holding a golden goblet, and had evidently been interrupted at her luncheon.

  Sir Kai turned his head to speak to the lady, and Sir Ither took his heavy iron helm from its place on his saddle and brought it down with a solid thud on the back of Sir Kai's head. Sir Kai toppled forward immediately, and Piers gasped in horror. The tall lady froze with astonishment, but the other lady hurried to Sir Kai's prone form.

  "What is thy name, my lady?" Sir Ither asked the tall lady politely, as if he had not just villainously struck down an unarmed man.

  The lady's face was pale, and she looked unsteady, but she took a deep breath and stood straight. "My name is Guinevere. I do not ask for your name, for the names of recreant knights mean nothing to me."

  "And yet I give it all the same, my lady," said Sir Ither, dismounting. "I am Ither, the nephew of King Uther Pendragon. I am rightful king over all England. I have been on quest these many months, seeking your misbegotten husband to challenge him to single combat. He is no true king of England!"

  Piers's head was in a whirl. Everyone in England knew how the young Arthur, King Uther's only son, had been hidden away from the king's enemies by none other than Merlin the Enchanter, to be raised by the good knight Sir Ector. Everyone knew how Arthur had first proven his divine right to be king by drawing the great sword Excalibur from a stone and then had proven himself again and again through his wise rule. How could Sir Ither think that just being King Uther's nephew gave him the right to put all this aside? Indeed, Sir Ither had shown himself utterly unworthy of the throne, by striking down Sir Kai from behind.

  The young rustic seemed to feel the same. Rising from the unconscious Sir Kai, he asked, "Are you sure that you are a knight? I met a knight one time, and he told me that knights fight fairly. I do not think that this was very knightly."

  "That it was not," Queen Guinevere said, her voice shaking. "I see before me one man and one churl, and the churl wears the armor."

  "Churl, am I?" Sir Ither snapped. Stepping forward, he snatched the golden goblet from the queen and abruptly threw the contents on her breast. A dark stain of red wine spread slowly down her gown. Sir Ither laughed and mounted his horse. "I'll be back, my lady, when you are a widow." Sir Ither turned his horse and rode back across the meadow. His heart heavy, Piers followed.

  Sir Ither stopped in an open area beside a stream, less than a mile from the king's camp. "This will do nicely," he said. There was satisfaction on his face. "Boy, I want you to go back to Arthur's camp now. Show the king this cup and tell him that if he wants revenge, I will be waiting for him here. Tell him that none may come but the king himself, but I think he will come after the insult I've just given his wife." Piers could not speak, but his disgust for his master must have shown in his face, because Sir Ither added, "When I am king, I will speak to you about looking at me in that way, boy. Now go!"

  The camp was very much astir when Piers arrived. Evidently the king had returned from the hunt. The horse enclosure was filled with lathered, panting horses. Beardless men in bright hunting clothes bustled everywhere. No one took any notice of Piers, and he was able to ride through the perimeter unchallenged. In the inner circle of the tents was a clump of people gawking at something, and as Piers drew near he saw to his relief that Sir Kai was sitting up in their midst, holding his head but clearly alive. The same woman who had knelt over him before was holding him up, and a man with a gray beard knelt beside him. As Piers approached they all looked up at him.

  "That's the fellow's servant," Sir Kai said, blinking. "I recognize the silly hat."

  The gray-bearded man stood. "Have you a message for me?"

  Piers swallowed and said, "I have a message for King Arthur."

  The man looked into Piers's eyes. "I am Arthur."

  Piers burst into tears. From his cradle he had dreamed of the day when he might see this greatest of all men, and now that he finally saw him, he had to deliver a hateful message. King Arthur's eyes softened. "Come, boy. No one blames you for your master's incivility."

  "Oh, incivility you call it," Sir Kai said with a snort.

  "Be quiet, Sir Kai," said the woman beside him.

  "There, I told you so," said another voice. It was the young rustic, appearing from nowhere, as he had in the forest. "I told you he wasn't acting very knightly."

  Distracted, King Arthur looked at the youth. "And who are you, friend?"

  "My name is Parsifal. I want to be a knight. I met a knight one time, about two years ago, or maybe more. It was in a different world. He told me that you could make me a knight. If you are really King Arthur. Are you?"

  The king nodded gravely. "I am, friend. But this is not a good time."

  "When would be a good time?"

  King Arthur looked annoyed momentarily, but then replied patiently. "My friend, I cannot make anyone a knight who has not achieved great deeds. Knighthood must be earned."

  "I shall do great deeds, then," the young man said happily.

  The king turned back to Piers. "I beg your pardon, son. Tell me your message."

  "My master, Sir Ither, is waiting for you in a small clearing to the east. He wants to fight you, your highness. No one else."

  King Arthur pursed his lips, and Sir Kai struggled to his feet. "You can't go, Arthur," he said.

  "Tell me why I can't, Kai," Arthur said. "I'll defeat him, you know."

  "I know that, but you still can't go. The King of All England can't go off to meet every halfwit who challenges him. Send someone else."

  "Who?" Arthur said. "You can't go with a cracked head. Gawain's in Orkney. I don't have any seasoned knights here. These are all journeymen, Kai."

  "I'll go fight him," said the rustic, Parsifal.

  "Will you shut up?" Kai snapped irritably. "Look, Arthur, this knight has no honor. Why should you respect his wishes? Send all the knights after him."

  "I'll fight him by myself," Parsifal said. "I'm not afraid."

  "Well, you ought to be, clodpole!" retorted Sir Kai. "He's a grown knight, and you're a puppy in bad clothes. He'd kill you."

  Parsifal smiled. "I'm not the one he bonked on the head," he said pleasantly.

  The lady who had been helping Sir Kai burst into laughter, and Sir Kai whirled around, glaring. "Oh, you think that's funny, Lady Connoire?"

  "Yes, actually," she said, still chuckling.

  "You haven't so much as smiled since you came to court," Sir Kai said. "And now you think this is funny."

  Lady Connoire lifted her chin. "Yes, especially when I remember how you looked, face down in the mud."

  "Why don't you go to the women's tent and be quiet?" Sir Kai said.

  Lady Connoire stopped laughing. "Don't ever tell me to be quiet."

  Sir Kai leaned close to her. "Be quiet," he said softly.

  Immediately Lady Connoire slapped Sir Kai's cheek, and just as quickly Sir Kai slapped hers. Piers gasped, and Arthur snapped, "Kai!" but before he could move, Parsifal reached over and pulled Sir Kai away from Lady Connoire.

  "My mother says that a knight should never show violence to a lady. You should not have done that."

  Sir Kai's face was a deep red, but he scowled at Parsifal and said, "Go away, plowboy. Just go away!"

  Parsifal nodded patiently. "I will, but I ought to have some armor, so I can do my great deeds. Do you have any red armor? I like red."

  "I'll give you some red armor," Sir Kai said furiously. "It's on that i
diot knight back in the woods!" With a jerk, Sir Kai turned and stormed away.

  "Oh, can I have his? That will be fine," Parsifal said, and he too turned and began running across the meadow.

  "I beg pardon on behalf of my brother," King Arthur said gently to Lady Connoire.

  "Do not trouble yourself, sire," said Lady Connoire stiffly, and then she too strode away, leaving King Arthur with Piers in the midst of a shocked circle of onlookers.

  "I don't believe I've ever felt so left out of a conversation," the king said quietly, his lips curling slightly. "My boy, I fear we've been discourteous. Please tell your master that I decline his challenge on the grounds that I find him boorish and unworthy of my time." Piers nodded, but hesitated.

  "Is there something else?" the king asked.

  "Yes, your highness." Piers reached into his saddle bags and took out the golden cup that Sir Ither had stolen from Queen Guinevere. "Please, sire, give this back to the queen."

  King Arthur nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. "I thank you, son," he said. "If you should ever happen to have a change of master, I would be very happy to see you again. Now, you'd best go before this Parsifal gets himself in trouble."

  Piers nodded and turned his horse. Parsifal was already across the meadow and into the woods. Piers urged his horse on, but he didn't catch up until he came to Sir Ither's clearing. There was Parsifal, holding Sir Ither's body by his ankles and dragging it around in a circle. One of Parsifal's short spears protruded from the visor of Sir Ither's helm. Parsifal looked up as Piers entered the clearing. "How do you get this stuff off?" he asked.

  II. Parsifal's Education

  It took Piers and Parsifal over an hour to remove Sir Ither's armor and buckle it securely onto Parsifal, whom it fit perfectly. Parsifal walked slowly around the clearing.

  "It is very fine," he said gravely. "But it will be difficult to run."

  "But knights do not run," Piers said. "They ride horses."

  "I do not know how to ride a horse," Parsifal said thoughtfully. "I shall have to learn." He walked around the clearing again, then tried to take off his helm. After a moment, Piers helped him.

  "See, here is the strap to pull."

  Parsifal took off the helm and took a deep breath. "That's better. I couldn't see, and the sounds were all wrong inside there. Must I wear this hat often?"

  "It's called a helm," Piers explained. "And you only need wear it when you fight."

  "That's good." Parsifal moved his arms stiffly. "How shall I fight, though? I cannot draw my arms back far enough to throw my javelin well."

  Piers had been hoping for this opening. "Oh, sir, you mustn't fight with a javelin! It is common and rude and not knightly."

  "Knights do not use javelins?" Piers shook his head, and Parsifal said, "But this fellow had a spear, too."

  "That's not a spear; it's a lance. Knights hold their lances against their bodies and ride their horses toward their enemies and hit them with the points of the lances."

  Parsifal's eyes widened. "That is what knights do?" Piers nodded again, and Parsifal looked earnestly at the page. "Tell me truly. Are knights not very clever?"

  "Oh, sir! Do not say that! Knights are the noblest and finest of all men!" Parsifal shook his head thoughtfully. "Indeed they are!" Piers protested. "You will see when you are used to it. The lance is the very prince of weapons. And a fine sword is nearly as grand."

  Parsifal's brow cleared. "Yes, of course. The sword." He withdrew from the scabbard the sword that Piers's father had given Sir Ither. "Yes, this is good. Such a weapon makes me feel strong." He waved the sword in the air, clearly still struggling against the confines of his armor. He turned to Piers. "Knights do not wear their armor all the time. How do they take it off at night?"

  "The same way they put it on," Piers replied.

  "But I cannot do that without you. And how will I put it back on in the morning?"

  Piers hesitated, then said, "I could ride with you, if you like. My former master is dead, and I did not wish to serve such a man anyway."

  "Oh, that will be all right, then," said Parsifal, smiling happily. "I like you."

  Piers liked Parsifal too, but he could not help thinking how far his star had fallen in just one day. This morning he was page to a royal prince, a nephew of the late king, Uther Pendragon, and now he was a page to an unknown rustic with great strength and grand dreams but nothing else to recommend him. Still, it's better than being a blacksmith, he reminded himself.

  "What is your name?" Parsifal asked.

  "Pierre," Piers said. "It is French."

  "Oh, are you French?"

  "Yes," Piers said. It was half true, anyway.

  "Is that why you wear a funny hat?"

  Piers started to reply angrily, but stopped himself. Just because his new master was ignorant did not mean he could behave discourteously himself. He would have to show Parsifal how knights behave by example. "It is un chapeau d'un courtisan," he said grandly.

  "Is that French for 'funny hat'?" Parsifal asked.

  Piers sighed. "Something like that," he said resignedly.

  "Pierre?" asked Parsifal, a crease on his forehead.

  "Yes, Sir Parsifal?"

  "'Sir'? Why do you call me 'Sir'?" Parsifal asked curiously.

  "It is how one speaks of knights."

  "But I am not a knight until I have done great deeds. The king said so."

  Piers realized that he was unsure of the protocol here. Parsifal was right. "What should I call you then?"

  "Parsifal. It is my name."

  Piers felt sure that a page did not call his master by his given name, but he could think of no other option here. He resolved privately never to use the name unless they were alone. "Very well ... er ... Parsifal. Did you have a question for me?"

  "Oh, yes. I was just wondering what I do with the armor when I have to make water. Must I take it all off?"

  Piers cringed at the indelicacy of the question, but in fairness he admitted that it was something Parsifal should know. For the next few minutes they explored the various hinges and openings in the armor that enabled a knight to relieve himself with relative convenience. Parsifal found these fascinating, and Piers could only hope that the novelty would wear off and his new master would soon stop playing with his armor.

  Piers rode in his pagely position behind Parsifal and watched his master try to stay in the saddle. It was not a pretty sight, but even in the course of one afternoon, Piers could see improvement. Although the depths of Parsifal's ignorance continued to amaze Piers, Parsifal was also an astonishingly quick learner, and he never forgot anything. It had been awkward getting Parsifal into the saddle for the first time, but when he promptly fell off the other side, it had been much easier to get him up again. By the time that Parsifal had learned how to stay on his horse, he was able to climb into the saddle unassisted. Piers knew from his mother's stories that some knights never did learn to mount their horses while in armor and always required some assistance. While there were surely gaps in Parsifal's knowledge, Piers could discern no limits to his physical strength and coordination.

  Piers smelled woodsmoke, and then a moment later saw a peasant's cottage over the heath where they were riding. He sighed with resignation, and sure enough, as they drew near to the cottage, Parsifal slowed his horse and bowed his head politely to the gawking yokels outside the little hut. "How do you do?" Parsifal said. "I hope that you are well today."

  The peasants did not answer, but Parsifal did not seem to mind. He touched his horse with his heel and cantered away again.

  Piers rode by the hovel, eyes straight ahead. There did not seem to be anything he could do to squelch Parsifal's incurable desire to greet every person whom he encountered, but he did not have to join him in his plebeian habits. The first time that it had happened—Parsifal had stopped to greet a greasy pork-butcher on his way home from market—Piers had suggested that it was not very knightly to say hello to every person, of every statio
n in life. But Parsifal had only said, "Before I left home, my mother told me to greet all I met."

  "Perhaps she meant for you to greet all other knights," Piers said.

  "She did not say so. I will do what my mother said." Parsifal's voice was pleasant—indeed, it had never been anything but pleasant—but Piers heard the finality of his decision.

  On the other hand, Piers had won the dispute over where he was to ride. When they had at last set off, Piers had fallen into position behind his master. Parsifal had complained that he wanted Piers to ride beside him, but Piers had been adamant. No page should ride alongside his knight. It was not seemly. At last Parsifal had conceded the point, perhaps because his mother had not told him any different.

  About a mile after the peasant's cottage, they came upon a long tent made of what seemed to be silk. As they drew near, Piers could see a table set with a large dinner, and a beautiful woman seated at one end of the table. She was alone, and Piers's heart began to race. This looked like the beginning of an adventure, if his mother's stories were anything to go by.

  Parsifal stopped and dismounted awkwardly. "How do you do?" he said. "I hope you are well today." The lady started to reply, but Parsifal did not wait for her. "I am hungry," he said.

  Piers then watched with astonishment as Parsifal strode to the table and picked up a whole roast chicken and began gnawing on it. "Sir!" Piers cried out, dismounting at once. "You musn't—" Then he caught himself. A page should never reprove his master, especially in front of a lady.

  As for the lady, she had risen to her feet, one hand over her breast, her face showing equal parts of astonishment and fear. Piers wanted to reassure her that she was in no danger, but a page should be quiet in his master's presence, and he had to content himself with smiling reassuringly at her. She did not seem reassured.