"I beg you, sir knight, do not hurt me," the lady said faintly.
"Oh, I won't hurt you. Do you have anything to drink?" Parsifal said. At least that was probably what he said. It was hard to make out his exact words since he was speaking through huge mouthfuls of chicken. In less than a minute, the chicken was gone, and the bones were scattered carelessly about the table, leaving greasy spots on the pure white tablecloth. Parsifal reached for a flagon of liquid and began drinking right from the jug.
"What is this?" he declared. "It tastes funny."
"It's ... wine," the lady whispered.
"Is that what wine tastes like? Bleah!" Parsifal cleared his throat and spat noisily onto the table. "Haven't you any water, ma'am?" She shook her head, and Parsifal shrugged. "It's just as well, I suppose. The more I drink, the more I have to make water, and it's not so easy in armor, even though I have this little door here." Parsifal pointed at his little door, and the lady nodded rigidly, her eyes wide. Piers longed for a hole to open up in the ground for him to crawl into.
Parsifal started on a leg of lamb and gestured to Piers. "Come on, Pierre. Tuck in. There's plenty. You, too, ma'am." Piers shook his head and tried to communicate an abject apology to the lady with his eyes, but she did not look his way. She only stared at Parsifal in unblinking amazement. After Parsifal finished the leg of lamb, he leaned back and erupted with a loud belch. "There," he said happily. "That's better."
At this point the lady evidently felt that she should occupy Parsifal with conversation. "Have you ... have you come far, sir knight?"
"I'm not a real knight yet. I have to do great deeds first," Parsifal confided to the lady. "No, we haven't come far. But I was getting peckish. Good thing you were here with all this food. Lucky. Do you do this often?"
"Do what?"
"Sit out here alone with a table full of food."
"I ... am awaiting my husband, Duke Orilus," the lady said. "It is his birthday, and this was to be a surprise for him."
Parsifal stood and stretched. "Well, it will still be a surprise for him, won't it?" He moved his hands over his armor a moment, then laughed. "The worst thing about armor is that it's hard to scratch your itches." He smiled at the lady. "Aren't you glad that you can scratch whenever you like?"
The lady smiled weakly and said, "If you say, sir."
"Well, Pierre and I must be off to do great deeds," Parsifal said. "I'll just kiss you now."
"What?" gasped the lady and Piers in unison.
"My mother said that when I met a fair lady I should give her a kiss." He stepped quickly forward, took the lady's arms in his two hands and lifted her off the ground. She struggled weakly, but Parsifal did not seem to notice, and he kissed her on her cheek and set her down. Then he looked closely at her hand. "My mother also said I should take a ring from the fair lady I kissed," he said, and before either could say another word, he took a jeweled ring from the lady's hand. Then he walked back to his horse, dropped the ring in his saddlebags, and mounted. "Come along, Pierre," he said, smiling. "I'd like to do at least one great deed before dark."
Clearly Piers had a formidable task before him, if he was ever to make Parsifal a true knight. He began that evening, as they sat around a campfire eating a roast boar that Parsifal had killed with one of his javelins shortly after they made camp.
"Parsifal?"
"Yes, Pierre," Parsifal said around a mouthful of food.
"I need to talk to you about what happened back at that lady's tent."
"Did something happen? I saw nothing."
Piers cleared his throat. "It is only that your behavior there was not completely knightly."
Parsifal belched loudly. "In what way?" he asked.
"Well, there's a good example right there," Piers said, making the most of the moment. "Belching. Knights are not supposed to belch in front of ladies."
Parsifal frowned. "But sometimes I need to belch," he said.
"You must do it quietly when you are among ladies," Piers said.
"Why?"
"Because ladies don't belch, and we must respect their custom," Piers said firmly.
"Ladies don't belch?"
"No, they don't."
Parsifal pondered this for a moment, then said, "Sometimes when I have the gas, I don't belch but instead I—"
"And they don't do that either!" Piers said hastily.
Parsifal shook his head with wonder. "Truly, ladies are amazing creatures. My mother should have told me."
"Yes, that's another thing. What exactly is it that your mother told you before you went out?"
Parsifal smiled. "She gave me much advice. She used to be a lady in a castle herself, you know—the Lady Herzeloyde—and so she knew about knights and things. She said that I should be good and kind and should greet everyone I meet—but you already knew that."
"Yes," Piers muttered.
"She said I should always be good to ladies and never show them violence."
"She said that? Then why did you handle the lady in the tent so roughly?"
"Was I rough?" Parsifal looked concerned. "I meant no harm. I just picked her up to kiss her better."
"But why did you kiss her at all?"
"Didn't you hear me tell the lady? My mother said that one day I would meet a lady who seemed to me to be fair above all others and that she would make me exceeding glad and that when we had kissed then I should give her a ring and she should give me one, and then we would be happy. I did not have a ring to give her, but she had one for me, so it was all right, was it not?"
Piers understood now. "I think she was talking about the woman you would marry," he said patiently.
"Marry? What is that?"
For a moment Piers could not speak. "You don't know what it means to marry? But your mother ... where is your father?"
"I never knew my father," Parsifal said. "He rode off to a faraway place called Damascus when I was a baby, and he got killed. My mother was very sad, so she moved to our home in the woods."
Piers said, "To marry is when a man and a woman decide to love each other all the rest of their lives as they will never love anyone else."
Parsifal nodded slowly. "So you think she did not mean for me to kiss every fair woman?"
"That's right. You must never kiss any woman against her will, and you should never kiss any woman who is married to another man."
Parsifal nodded thoughtfully. "So I should not have taken her ring either?"
"No, you should not have!" Piers said emphatically. "Rings are exchanged only when two people get married."
"There are many rules for knights," Parsifal said ruefully. "And how will I know which lady I am to marry?"
This was the opening that Piers wanted. For the next two hours he told Parsifal everything he could think of about how men attract ladies, placing a heavy emphasis on polite conversation and table manners. As he wound up his discourse, he spent a few minutes describing courtly fashions for men, as his mother had described them, and ventured a hint that Parsifal's rough homespun clothes might be exchanged for others.
Parsifal frowned. "My mother made these clothes," he said, and Piers abandoned that subject. The personality of this Lady Herzeloyde was still stamped strongly on her son. There would be time later for such matters.
The next day, Piers and Parsifal came to a castle. It was not a large castle, but the pennants and escutcheons that hung from the battlements proclaimed it to be the residence of a knight and lord.
Parsifal turned in his saddle. "Is this a great deed?" he asked.
"Perhaps," Piers replied. "Knock at the gate and see what adventure awaits."
Parsifal banged on the heavy wooden gate, and a few minutes later it was opened by a manservant in stunning green and gold livery. Even in Arthur's camp, Piers had not seen such splendid male raiment. He wished he had an outfit like that and was glad that he at least had his new hat.
"How do you do?" Parsifal said. "I hope you are well today."
Piers w
inced. He hadn't thought to tell Parsifal the proper form to use when announcing your arrival. Of course usually a squire did the actual announcing, but pressing a point, Piers decided that with no squire at hand it would be all right for a page.
"Tell the lord of this manor," Piers proclaimed loudly, "that Sir ... that Parsifal, lately of King Arthur's court, has arrived and seeks shelter."
Piers had barely finished speaking before an elderly man and a young lady came running from the central keep. Both were even more sumptuously dressed than the manservant. Piers wished his mother could see their clothes. "Sir Parsifal! Come in!" said the elderly man. "You are welcome in my castle, as is any knight of King Arthur's Round Table. I am Sir Gurnemains, and this is my daughter, the Lady Liase. I beg you to make as long stay with us as you like."
Parsifal looked puzzled. "What is this round table?" he asked.
Piers cringed again. He did wish that Parsifal would stop betraying his ignorance through his habit of asking every question that came into his head.
"But did you not say...? Then where are you from?"
"I've come over from the Other Side," Parsifal said. He waved his arm back at Piers. "This is the one who shouted. Ask him what he meant."
Sir Gurnemains and Lady Liase looked at Piers, who said, "I apologize for being unclear. Sir ... I mean, er ... Parsifal is not yet a knight, but he has been sent out by King Arthur to do great deeds and to earn knighthood." He was afraid that Sir Gurnemains would be angry at having been led into a mistake, but Sir Gurnemains beamed.
"Nothing could be better!" he said. "For I, Sir Gurnemains, am an instructor of knights!"
Piers and Parsifal stayed at Sir Gurnemains's castle for three months, while Parsifal learned chivalry. Sir Gurnemains, although now retired, had once been mentor to some of King Arthur's most famous knights, including Sir Bagdemagus and Sir Griflet, and his knowledge of court customs was immense.
Parsifal was a willing pupil, once the issue of his clothing had been resolved. As soon as Sir Gurnemains saw Parsifal out of his armor, he had exclaimed, "But you are perfect! I've not seen such arms and shoulders since Sir Lancelot left the court! But my dear Sir Parsifal! That ... that rag you are wearing! Really, it will not do!"
Parsifal's eyes never lost their amiable expression, but his lips set in what Piers had already recognized as a sign of inflexibility. Fearing that Parsifal would say something offensive, Piers hastily intervened. "Excuse me, Sir Gurnemains. Forgive my speaking out of turn, but that garment was a gift from ... from my master's mother."
Sir Gurnemains recovered quickly. He bowed at once, with rare grace, and said, "I beg your pardon, Sir Parsifal. I did not know, or I should not have spoken. But, forgive me one question, do you do well to wear such a precious garment with your armor? Nothing will wear out a doublet faster than armor. Should you not wrap it in oilcloth to keep it forever? I can have some brought to you."
Piers gazed at Sir Gurnemains with admiration. Parsifal cocked his head and thought for a moment. Then he nodded. "You are right. But I have no other clothes."
"Oh, my dear boy, please allow me the honor of dressing you in a few of my own discarded clothes. They would only be thrown away, so it is no great loss. Please say yes."
"Thank you," Parsifal said simply.
And so it was that Sir Gurnemains proudly gave Parsifal three brilliant orange and green suits at breakfast the next morning. Having spent the night in the servants' hall, Piers knew that these "discarded" clothes had been sewn the night before by three ladies-in-waiting, but he said nothing.
"Come, Sir Parsifal," said Sir Gurnemains, when Parsifal had dressed. "We have much to do. We shall begin by learning how to bow. It is not so easy as you might think."
And so they began. Parsifal learned how to bow in all the different degrees, how to walk in a courtly fashion, and how to dance. The first few days were tense. It wasn't that Parsifal had difficulty. His natural grace made every physical exercise relatively easy for him. The problem was his inquisitive nature. Why should you bow differently to a queen than to a lady's maid? Why must knights prance like cats when they walk? Why do people dance? Piers, remembering when Parsifal asked the lady in the tent about scratching itches and seeking to avoid future embarrassments, ventured to mention the matter to Sir Gurnemains.
"Yes, he does ask a great many questions, doesn't he?" Sir Gurnemains said thoughtfully. "This always puts one in danger of impertinence. I shall speak to him." Piers bowed and began to back away, but Sir Gurnemains stopped him. "I have been meaning to speak to you anyway, my boy. What is your name?"
"Pierre," Piers said.
Sir Gurnemains looked pleased. "French, of course. How charming! I am so pleased that Sir Parsifal has a page such as you with him. For, you may have noticed, Sir Parsifal still has, shall we say, a few rough edges. If, like so many knights these days, he rode only with some boorish squire who cared for nothing but weapons, he would never get the sort of polish that, between us, we shall give him."
Piers flushed and bowed again.
Thus it was that from that time on, every question that Parsifal asked received a gentle reproof from Sir Gurnemains and a reminder that there was no sin so horrible as the uncivil question. Parsifal never seemed completely to accept this dictum, though, and he had only moderate success. Although he was normally compliant, this rule irked Parsifal more than any other.
At last, though, after three months of intensive training in all the knightly courtesies, Parsifal had achieved some control over his curiosity and appeared to Piers to be a perfect knight. His bow was exquisite, and he could mince as daintily as a courtier of half his weight. But Piers was most proud on the final evening of Sir Gurnemains's course of instruction, when he watched his master, strikingly clad in green and orange, dancing faultlessly with the Lady Liase. No one would have recognized the rustic hunting boy in that gallant figure, tripping effortlessly around the ballroom.
"Mon enfant," Sir Gurnemains cried as the dance came to an end, "you are complete to a shade! Never have I seen such grace on the dance floor! Why, not even Sir Lancelot could have surpassed you! And now, the final lesson: the kiss!"
Parsifal frowned and began to speak but caught himself.
"Ah, you want to know how I shall teach you the courtly manner of the kiss!" Sir Gurnemains said, smiling at Parsifal and Liase. "Nothing is easier. You shall kiss my daughter Liase, for never have I known a knight more worthy—"
"I am not a knight, and I do not wish to kiss Liase," Parsifal said abruptly. "Please let us skip this lesson and go on."
For once, Sir Gurnemains was caught off guard and had no smooth response, and Liase looked stricken. Piers closed his eyes in anguish.
Parsifal continued. "If we are finished with bowing and using table manners and prancing and wearing pretty clothes, then I am glad. Now, if I may ask you—"
"Remember about asking questions," Sir Gurnemains said.
"I do not see how I am to learn anything unless I do," Parsifal replied.
"Why, you have already learned everything!" Sir Gurnemains said triumphantly. "I have nothing left to teach you."
Parsifal frowned. "You have not taught me how to use my sword or how to ride with a lance. You have not taught me how to achieve great deeds. All you have taught me is how to act like a knight, when I wanted to learn how to become one." He shook his head slowly. "I shall leave you tomorrow."
And so the next morning, while both Sir Gurnemains and his daughter wept at the gate, Piers and Parsifal rode away from the silver and polished crystal of Sir Gurnemains's castle, back into the forest.
III. Jean le Forestier
Piers and Parsifal rode due west for almost twelve hours, into the darkest forest Piers had ever seen. Both of their horses were staggering when at last Parsifal stopped near a tiny brook. "We shall camp here." Piers almost fell from the saddle and began stiffly to set about their camp needs, but Parsifal, after watching him for a moment, said, "Let me do that."
"But it isn't seemly for a knight to do his own labors," Piers protested weakly.
"You are doing my labors so poorly that I shall have to do them all again anyway. Here, help me undress, and I'll show you."
When Parsifal was free of his armor, he set about teaching Piers how to make camp in the woods. In no time, they were very comfortably settled, and Parsifal had disappeared soundlessly into the forest with one of his hunting spears, his face shining with anticipation. They ate well that night on the fruits of his hunt.
The next day they met the first human they had seen since leaving Sir Gurnemains, a freckle-faced young man in bright new armor. "How do you do?" Parsifal said politely. "I hope you are well today."
"Why, I'm middling, just middling," the youth said, eyeing Parsifal's armor with respect. "I say, are you someone I ought to know?"
"I don't know," Parsifal said, puzzled. "Who are you supposed to know?"
"I mean, are you someone famous? Like Sir Gareth or Sir Tristram or someone like that?" Parsifal shook his head, and the youth hastily apologized. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that you looked so, well, so deuced knightly, I thought you must be a great knight." Piers smiled proudly. Parsifal did look impressive. Sir Gurnemains had seen to it that the red armor had been shined and decked with any number of bright strips of silk.
"I do want to be a great knight," Parsifal said simply.
"So do I," the youth said enthusiastically. "I say, I don't suppose you'd want to try a pass at me in joust, would you? I daresay I'll get a fall from it, but it will be good practice."
"I would like it above all things," Parsifal said earnestly. "Tell me how to go about it."
"Oh, I can see you're roasting me," the youth said, laughing. "You're obviously far more experienced than I am. Shall we use this bare patch alongside the path? I'll start from that end."
The youth turned his horse and trotted away, and Piers realized for the first time that in all their months with Sir Gurnemains Parsifal had never so much as touched a lance. Indeed, he wouldn't even have one had Sir Gurnemains not put one on Parsifal's saddle as a convenient place to attach flags and guidons. Parsifal watched the youth closely, then imitated his every move on the other side of the bare patch.