The girl led Parzival as far as the castle, where the queen’s guard took him into a garden. There, he removed his armor and washed the rust off his body. Clean garments were brought for him to put on, for even in this sad city, courtesy was not forgotten.
At length, Parzival was led into the throne room. The nobles and their ladies were nearly as wretched and weak as the peasants he had seen in the streets. But pale and thin as she was, there stood one whose beauty shone dazzling as the evening star. Even as Parzival stared at her, Condwiramurs the queen came toward him, kissed him on the cheek, and took his hand to lead him to where he was to sit down beside her.
Parzival sat without speaking. He remembered that Gurnemanz had warned him not to ask questions, and he was determined that he would behave in a manner befitting a knight in the presence of this lovely queen.
At last the queen spoke. “I am told that you have offered me your service. It has been a long time since a stranger has come to offer us help. Who are you, sir, and where have you come from?”
“I am Parzival the son of Gahmuret, my lady. And today I have come from the castle of a kind prince named Gurnemanz, to whom I owe much.”
“I am amazed and overjoyed to hear you say this,” she said. “Amazed because the trip to my uncle’s home is a two-day journey and you have accomplished it in one. And overjoyed to hear that you have come from my mother’s brother. His daughter, Liaze, and I have shared many a sad tear. Indeed, her brother died seeking to defend me from this villain who has stolen all my lands and now besieges this city, which is all that remains of my father’s kingdom. As I have just told my kinsmen”—she indicated two monks who stood nearby—“we are at the point of famine here. I cannot even offer you the entertainment that a guest of your stature is due.”
When she said this, the two monks offered to return to their homes in the country and send food so that a proper feast might be prepared for her noble guest. The queen accepted this offer gladly, but when the food for the feast arrived, Parzival insisted that it be divided so that all the people might have something to eat.
The people loved Parzival for this, the queen most of all, for it broke her heart to see her people suffer. “I would rather die,” she told him, “than many Clamide, who has slaughtered my warriors and starved my people.”
“How then can I serve you?”
“We have had word that Clamide’s chief officer, Kingrum, will arrive tomorrow at the head of a large army. They are coming from the west, where the river cannot protect us. I fear all is lost, she said.
But on the next morning Parzival donned his shining red armor and spurred the red sorrel out of the castle toward the advancing foe. Kingrum, seeing a lone knight coming, spurred his horse, too, so that the two of them met. This was Parzival’s first sword fight, but Gumemanz had taught him well. He returned Kingrum blow for blow until at last he had hurled the older man upon the ground and stood over him ready for the death blow.
Kingrum pled for mercy, and Parzival, remembering the teaching of Gurnemanz, relented, “I shall give you your life,” he said, “if you will present yourself to Prince Gurnemanz.”
Kingrum was alarmed. “Then you might as well kill me now,” he said, “for I killed his son. What will he do to me?”
“I will give you another choice, then,” said Parzival. “Go to Arthur’s court. There is a lady there who suffered humiliation because of me. Kneel to her, the Lady Cunneware, and say to her and to the king and all the court that I will not return until I have cleansed the dishonor that we share.”
Kingrum was happy to escape with his life and hurried to the court of Arthur to fulfill this pledge.
That night a wonderful thing happened. Two ships foundered on the rocks of the river—ships whose sole cargo was food. In their desperation, Queen Condwiramurs’s hungry people would have plundered the ships, but Parzival held them back and gathered gold and jewels from the castle to pay the merchant seamen for their cargo. Then he carefully parceled out all the food, so that no one would have too little or too much.
Another wonderful thing happened that very night. Queen Condwiramurs, who had loved Parzival for his beauty, now loved him for his wisdom and generosity. Before the sun set, she took the son of Gahmuret to be her husband and her king.
A few days later, King Clamide, who had heard nothing of these things, set out for Queen Condwiramurs’s city, determined to subdue it once and for all and to force the queen to be his bride.
He moved slowly, for his army was a large one. Long before he had reached the city, he was met by a page from the forces that had set out under Kingrum, his steward. The page told Clamide how a great Red Knight had defeated Kingrum and sent the steward to Arthur’s court. Clamide was furious because he thought Condwiramurs had sent for Sir Ither to be her champion. That cursed knight, he thought, always did have a way with women.
Clamide was more determined than ever to lay waste the city and take the queen for his own. Kingrum sent me word, he said to himself, that the people are starving. How can they hold out against me any longer?
Before long, a knight from Kingrum’s forces came riding up in great distress, telling him the same story that the page had. But Clamide would not give up. He urged his men forward. He did not know, of course, that the city now had food aplenty and new heart since Parzival had become the king.
The battle was fierce and Clamide’s forces were taken by surprise. This was not the starving army of hopeless men they had expected.
That first day, many of Clamide’s men were taken prisoner. “Bring them within the city gates and take good care of them,” Parzival ordered. For three days, the prisoners received good food and tender care for their wounds. Then, stripped of their weapons, they were let go.
When they returned to their units, their fellow soldiers greeted them with pity. “You must be starving,” they said, “locked up in that famine-ridden city.”
“Don’t feel sorry for us,” the prisoners said. “We were treated royally in there. They’ve got enough food in that city to last out a year of siege.”
When Clamide heard this report, he realized that further siege would be useless, so he sent word to the city that if there was one inside who would dare meet him, Clamide, in single combat, the two of them could settle matters once and for all.
Of course, this was just what Parzival had hoped for. He and Clamide met in the , center of the field. They fought until both horses foundered from fatigue, and then they jumped down and continued the battle on foot. Parzival struck his foe with such a rain of blows that Clamide cried out: “This is to be single combat! You must call off your rocks and your catapult!”
Parzival laughed. “We have sent no rocks or catapult against you. I gave my word on that. There is only this machine of war.” He raised his sword arm again. “Would you like to ask me to protect you from that?”
Clamide was so tired that he could fight no longer. He took one final blow to the helmet and fell to the ground, waiting for the stroke that would mean his death.
Parzival raised his arm once more. This was the man who had cost his wife so much pain. “You will never live to grieve my wife again,” he said.
“Why should you kill me?” the unlucky Clamide said. “You have won everything—a kingdom, the woman I love, and all my honor.”
Slowly, Parzival lowered his sword. Do not kill unless you must, Gurnemanz had said. “I will let you go,” he said, “if you will submit yourself to Prince Gurnemanz.”
“Then kill me now,” Clamide replied, “for I have done that prince a wrong he will not forgive. I have besieged the kingdom of his niece. His own son died in defense of this city. Do not send me to Gurnemanz. If I must die, kill me now with your own sword.”
“Go, then, to Arthur’s court,” Parzival said. “Greet the king for me and give your service to a lady who has suffered much because of me.” And so Clamide, too, was sent to serve Cunneware. And you may guess that Sir Kay was not happy to see two such warri
ors sent from Parzival to the service of the woman he had wronged.
Queen Condwiramurs’s city rejoiced as only those who have known great grief can rejoice, and Parzival and Condwiramurs lived together in great happiness. They were wise and generous rulers, so the life of that place was truly good for all the people.
Then the day came when Parzival said to his queen, “I must go and see how my mother is. For I have had no word from her these many months—and if by chance I meet adventure along the way, well, that is the calling of a knight, isn’t it?”
Because she loved him so much, she let him go, but she could not keep from weeping as she watched him ride away, his only companion the great red sorrel.
Three
Wild Mountain
THAT day, Parzival’s thoughts as he rode were not on his journey but on the queen whom he had left behind. Thus, he forgot to guide the great sorrel’s way and was led, as though by the hand of God, into a dense forest, which was known in those parts as the Land of Wildness.
Near evening, he came upon a lake, and there upon the lake were boats. Parzival rode up to the boat closest to the shore. In it, propped up against the stern, was a handsomely dressed man, his hat lined with peacock feathers, who was casting his line into the water.
This is no ordinary fisherman, thought Parzival to himself. But, remembering Gurnemanz’s teaching, he restrained his curiosity, and greeting the man with quiet courtesy, he asked if there was a place nearby where he might spend the night.
The fisherman looked up into the young man’s face and then said slowly, as though he were in great pain or sorrow, “There is no place a day’s ride from here except that great castle you have just passed.”
Parzival was surprised. He remembered no castle, but when he turned, there behind him on a high hill were the towers and turrets of what had to be a mighty fortress.
“The name of the place you see up there is Wild Mountain, and when you call at the drawbridge,” the man said, “tell them that the Angler has sent you, and they will take you in.”
Parzival did as he was told, and when he called out that the Angler had sent him, the drawbridge was immediately let down and the huge iron gates swung open. Solemn pages crowded around him to tend his horse. Others led him to a spacious chamber and helped him out of his armor. They bathed the rust from his body with warm water and anointed it with sweet-smelling oils. The lady of the castle had sent a robe of Arabic gold for him to wear. It was no less than the master of the wardrobe himself who helped Parzival put on the robe. Wine was brought and grapes and pomegranates the color of jewels. Still, in all this splendid welcome, there was neither a smile nor a laugh. A strange sorrow hung like a veil of mourning over all whom he met.
Solemn-faced knights came to invite him into the great hall. “The Angler is here,” they said. The hall was as large as the hall of Arthur’s court and, if anything, more splendid. Everyone—lord, lady, or servant—was dressed as though for a glorious feast day, but there was no joy of festival in the castle of Wild Mountain.
At the far end of the great hall, propped against rich cushions of silk and velvet and robes of sable and ermine, near to the great fireplace, reclined the Angler King of Wild Mountain. Perhaps this was the reason for the sadness all around him, for the king seemed to be in great pain. In a weak voice, the king bade him come into the hall. “Come sit down by me,” he said.
Parzival did as the king asked, marveling at the strangeness of the scene. Though the fire blazed hot, the king lay shivering in his furs. Suddenly, the door at the far end of the hall was thrown open. A page ran in, carrying in his hand a lance. The page ran to each of the four comers of the hall and as he did so, Parzival could hear the knights and ladies and servants begin to weep. As the page ran past the place where Parzival sat, he saw that blood was dripping from the point of the lance. Then the page ran out and the door was shut behind him.
Before Parzival could wonder more about this peculiar ceremony, the doors were once again thrown open. Through them came four beautiful maidens carrying golden candlesticks. Two noble-women followed, carrying ivory stands. Next, eight young maidens, four bearing more candles and four bearing a great jewel—a garnet that had been cut to form a tabletop. The garnet was put on the ivory stands to make a table for the king to dine upon. Six maidens brought in silver knives, which they laid out on the garnet tabletop.
And then, most wonderful of all, came four more maidens with crystal lamps, followed by a princess who carried in her hands that sacred vessel that few have ever seen, and of which Parzival had never heard. As the Grail approached, Parzival heard the king groan as though he were in mortal pain.
The princess placed the Grail on the king’s table and then she and her ladies stepped back. Servants came and brought tables for all the guests. Gold dishes and goblets were brought for all as well.
A page carried to the king’s table a golden basin and silken towel. The king washed his hands and bade Parzival to wash. All was prepared for a great feast, but where was the food and drink?
Just then, the servant behind Parzival held out a goblet toward the Grail. Immediately it was filled, and the servant set before Parzival a golden vessel filled with rich, red wine. Then he held out the golden dish and set it down before Parzival. It was overflowing with meats and fruits and rich foods of every kind. One by one the servants did this, and so served the king and his guests a banquet so sumptuous that even those in Arthur’s court would have been amazed.
What can this be? What is the meaning of these strange events? Parzival wondered, but he remembered kind Gurnemanz’s advice not to ask questions. Surely, if I am patient, everything will be revealed to me, he thought.
As he was thinking this, a page came toward the king bearing a sword. The sword was sheathed in gold and its hilt was a single ruby. The king motioned that the page was to present the sword to Parzival. “Before God crippled me, I carried this sword in many a great battle. Since I have only been able to offer you the poorest of hospitality, take this sword. I think you will find that it will serve you well. ”
As he took the sword into his hands, Parzival felt all the eyes in the hall on him. And all of them sorrowful, especially those of the king, but he remembered Gurnemanz’s warning and did not ask why.
The feasting was at an end. The servants removed the dishes and goblets and then the tables. The maidens and noble ladies took out the lamps, the candlesticks, the silver knives, the garnet tabletop, the ivory stands, and last of all the Grail.
The king wished Parzival good night, like the courteous host that he was. Knights led Parzival to his bedchamber. Pages undressed him and put him in a canopied bed, where maidens brought him grapes and mulberry wine and bade him rest well.
Though Parzival was very tired, he tossed and turned, churning to troubled dreams of swords cutting his flesh and lances piercing his body.
When he awoke with a start, the sun was shining through his window. He waited for the pages or the knights or the master of the wardrobe to come in and dress him for the day. But the castle was deathly still. He sat up in bed. His underclothing and armor were laid out for him. He realized at once that he was meant to dress himself. He jumped up in alarm. Something dreadful must have happened.
He threw on his underclothing and armed himself as quickly as he could with no one to help. I must find the king and offer him my service, he thought. But he wandered from room to room and could find no one.
He yelled out as loudly as he could, but the sound of his own voice echoed in the empty air.
Finally, he went out the great castle door, and there at the bottom of the steps stood his horse, saddled and bridled. Someone had propped his sword and lance against the sorrel’s flank. By now Parzival was more angry than concerned. He ran out to the courtyard where he had been greeted so courteously the night before. It was as empty as the castle, but he could see that the grass had been trampled, as though many horsemen had mounted there not long before. He raced back to t
he sorrel and leapt into the saddle. The gate was open and the drawbridge down.
He galloped across, but when he got to the end of the drawbridge, someone behind him yanked the cable so abruptly that Parzival was nearly thrown, horse and all, into the moat. Parzival turned back to see who had done this to him.
There, standing in the open gateway, was the page who had pulled the cable, shaking his fist at Parzival. “May God damn the light that falls on your path!” the boy cried. “You fool! You wretched fool! Why didn’t you ask the question?”
“What do you mean?” Parzival shouted back. “What question?”
Without another word, the page turned on his heel and disappeared. At once the iron portcullis crashed down upon the stone pavement. Parzival was alone.
There was nothing for him to do but to go forward, following the tracks of those who had left the yard earlier. Perhaps the king’s men are engaged in a battle, he thought. I can join them and offer the service of this great sword that the king has given me. Maybe they think I am a coward and that is why they despise me.
He followed the tracks, riding hard, but the hoofprints began to split off until at last they disappeared altogether. It was then that he heard the sound of a woman weeping. He followed the sound and found a young woman sitting against a linden tree, cradling in her arms the body of a knight, which had been embalmed.
At first Parzival did not recognize her, for she had shaved her head and was dressed in the rough clothes of a peasant. “May I be of service to you, madam?” he asked.
“No, no one can help me,” the young woman said. “For I am grieving more each day. But where did you come from? This is the Land of Wildness and not safe for travelers.”