IV. Questing

For a very long time after the voice faded and the platter that the voice had called the "Grail" disappeared, no one spoke or moved. At last Beaufils, who had watched the apparition with wonder, said, "Well, that was certainly exciting. Does this sort of thing happen often here at Camelot?"

No one answered, but his calm voice seemed to break the spell that had fallen over the room. The knights began blinking, rubbing their eyes, and shaking their heads, while beside Beaufils, Bishop Baldwin sank slowly to his knees, touching his forehead and shoulders and belly and muttering to himself, just as Sir Breunis Sans Pité had done in the woods. This evidently was a way to pray, but Bishop Baldwin didn't look very peaceful—in fact, he looked terrified. Galahad, on the other hand, was radiant. His eyes gazed at the ceiling where the Grail had disappeared, and his face glowed with wonder and excitement.

King Arthur broke the restless silence. "Well, my friends, today has certainly been a day of wonders, each more astonishing than the last. I'm glad that we're already assembled, because I need your counsel." He paused, smiled lopsidedly and said, "To put it simply, my friends, what did all that mean?"

"The voice called that dish a Grail," one knight said. "What's a Grail?"

A knight with a neat brown beard and a serious face leaned forward. "My liege?" he said.

"Yes, Parsifal?"

"I have some experience with this matter myself, and that did not look like what I know as the Grail."

King Arthur looked surprised. "What experience is this, Parsifal?"

Parsifal looked across the table at the red-bearded knight named Gawain, hesitated, then said, "It was a quest that I followed many years ago—a test that I failed once and then, by grace, was allowed to try again."

"And you've never spoken of this quest at court?" asked the king.

"No, sire. The test I speak of took place in an enchanted castle, in a ... in a different world from this one."

Beside Beaufils, Bishop Baldwin rose slowly to his feet, and Beaufils heard him whisper, "Sorcery!"

King Arthur asked, "And you encountered the Grail in this enchanted castle?"

"Yes, sire. The Grail is a magical stone that provides food for every banquet in that castle."

"A stone, you say? Not a serving dish?"

"That's right, sire."

The knights spoke in hushed tones to one another while the king frowned thoughtfully. Parsifal waited in silence.

"Then do you say that this vision that we all saw is not the Grail?" the king asked.

Before Parsifal could reply, Bishop Baldwin stepped forward. "This is nonsense, sire. We have all seen that the Grail is a serving dish, and the voice of God Himself has told us so. Even if Sir Parsifal believes he is speaking the truth, of which I am not at all certain, he is mistaken. Whatever foul, magical object he may have seen can have nothing to do with this holy Grail."

This seemed so silly that Beaufils had to laugh. All eyes turned toward him, and King Arthur said, "Beaufils?"

"I'm sorry to disturb your council," Beaufils said, still smiling. "But it did seem so funny."

"What did you find funny?" asked the king.

"The idea that this Grail had to be one thing or the other," Beaufils explained. "Well, doesn't it seem silly to you? Parsifal says that the Grail he knows provides food, and the Grail that we saw did the same thing. How many other things do you know that do that? The two Grails seem more alike than different, don't they? The only way they're different is how they look, and that can't be very important."

King Arthur smiled, and Kai gave a rumbling laugh. "He's not just a pretty face, I see."

Bishop Baldwin looked at Beaufils very sternly and seemed about to argue further, but then the scholar, Geoffrey, cleared his throat again.

"Yes, Clerk Geoffrey?" King Arthur said.

"Your Highness," Geoffrey said, bowing, "perhaps I may be able to help somewhat. The word 'Grail' is not entirely unknown among scholars."

"What do you know of the Grail?" the king asked.

"It is an ancient word, although its origin is still disputed by many. Some scholars, noting that in some documents it is spelled with a double 'a'—that is, g-r-a-a-1—suggest that its origin should be sought in some heathenish Germanic tongue, such as that spoken by the Alemanni or the Visigoths, of which the Roman historian Tacitus has given us so thorough a description. If so, it is proposed that the word should have the meaning 'bowl.' This, however, has been disputed by many other scholars who are themselves regrettably German, and whose objectivity must thereby be held to be in some question."

Beaufils stared at Geoffrey, fascinated with the droning sound of his meaningless words. It was like listening to a very repetitive night bird sing as you went to sleep. Kai lowered his chin into his hands and stared glumly at the table in front of him.

"It should, however, be noted," Geoffrey said, "that a minority viewpoint considers the word to have sprung from a corrupted spelling of the French word grêle, which I hardly need say refers to a hailstorm or even a hailstone. I find Sir Parsifal's suggestion that the Grail is a stone to be a significant correlation to this reading."

Beaufils met Gawain's eyes, and the knight grinned at him. "This is what I meant by education," the knight said.

"Have you ever heard anyone say so little for so long?" muttered Kai.

Geoffrey ignored them both. "And finally," he said with a flourish, "there is the late view, held by most reputable scholars to be spurious, that the Grail is a vessel of religious significance. Indeed, the monastery just over the hill from Camelot, at Glastonbury, claims to have been founded by none other than Joseph of Arimathea, he who gave a tomb for Our Lord in Jerusalem, and at Glastonbury they say that when Joseph came to our land he brought with him a vessel containing some of the holy blood of Christ. This vessel the monks of Glastonbury call the Holy Grail, or in the old French, the San Great Rearranging the letters of these words, though, one finds a secondary meaning: sang real, which is French for 'True Blood.'"

Beaufils smiled broadly, "Oh, I get it," he said. "It's like a word game! How clever!"

No one paid any attention to Beaufils, because Bishop Baldwin had grown very excited and was shouting, "At last we know! It is the Cup of Our Lord's Last Supper! Containing the Holy Blood!"

Geoffrey looked pained and cleared his throat again. Beaufils wondered if his throat got sore from all that gurgling. "As I thought I had made plain, most scholars today find the religious interpretation of the word to be pure fiction. To put it bluntly, we think the Glastonbury monks made it up."

"Nonsense! You saw it right here, didn't you?" Bishop Baldwin declared, dismissing the clerk with a peremptory wave of his hand. "My liege, God has sent this quest to you. You must send all your knights out at once, to find this Holy Grail!"

A babble of voices followed this pronouncement, but one by one the knights grew silent and turned their eyes toward King Arthur, who did not appear to Beaufils to be very pleased. At last the king said, "What do you say, my knights?"

Gawain rose to his feet. "Arthur, I don't know what this vision means, whether this Grail is holy or unholy or neither one, but this I know: we have received a call to adventure, and I have never refused that call before. I will seek this Grail."

One by one other knights rose to their feet, until well over half of them stood with Gawain. As each new knight stood, King Arthur's face seemed to grow sadder. "I seem to be losing most of my knights," he said at last.

"I'm staying here," announced Kai.

"I, too," added Parsifal. "I've already found my Grail, after all."

The other knights who had remained seated nodded. One of them was Galahad's father, Lancelot, who said, "I will stay with you as well, O king."

"No!" exclaimed Galahad, shocked and disappointed. "Not you! Is my own father afraid of this quest?"

Lancelot turned his head and looked at his son calmly. "If you wish to think it, my Galahad. But think what you will, I shall remain with my king. As for you, do what you think best."

Once again, Galahad raised his eyes worshipfully toward the ceiling where the Grail had been. "I will seek the Grail," he said in a ringing voice. "With this sword I have drawn from the stone, I will seek it until either I have found it or have died in the attempt."

In the silence that followed this grand declaration, Beaufils said, "That sounds nice, Galahad. I'll go with you."

All the knights who had volunteered for the quest—"quest" means "search," Beaufils discovered after asking about—were to set off together the next morning. Alone in their room that night, Galahad and Beaufils agreed that Beaufils would act as Galahad's squire on their journey, which Galahad explained would involve helping out around their camp and taking care of Galahad's armor and sword and shield. Beaufils didn't mind doing that, but he pointed out to Galahad, "You don't have a shield, remember?"

"God shall send one," Galahad said calmly. "Just as He sent a sword."

There was no arguing with that, so Beaufils applied himself to learning how to care for armor.

They set off the next morning with a grand fanfare, and all the questing knights stayed together at first. After an hour or so, Gawain rode a huge black horse up beside Beaufils, who was still on his old friend Clover the mule. "Good morning, lad," Gawain said, smiling. "I gather that you're now young Galahad's squire?"

"That's right," Beaufils said. "Galahad says that all knights have squires, and I don't mind doing my bit for a friend." He glanced around. "Do you have a squire, Gawain?"

Gawain nodded. "Ay, and I'm wishing he were here. His name's Terence, and I'd like him to meet you."

"He's away now?"

"Yes. He, um, has a home in another land, and he's gone to visit his father there."

"Oh? Is his father a knight, too?"

Gawain shook his head. "Nay, his father is ... well, it's a bit difficult to explain. Terence's father is a great man in that other place, and Terence has gone to ask his father if he has heard any important news."

Gawain seemed to expect a reply, so Beaufils said, "That sounds nice."

Gawain grinned. "You're not even curious about what sort of news he wants?"

"Not really," Beaufils said. "You see, nearly everything's news to me."

Gawain chuckled. "Yes, I imagine so. But I'd like to tell you all the same. Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

Gawain said, "You see, King Arthur is the greatest king this land has ever seen—or ever will see, I imagine—but not everyone wants a great king. A great king protects the humble and suppresses the proud, and that irritates the proud. So the king has powerful enemies who wish him gone, and every year there are revolts against him. Just this past month, word has come of such a plot. Terence's father is a knowledgeable sort of person, so Terence has gone to ask him." Gawain watched Beaufils's face in silence for a moment, then said, "You may be wondering why I'm telling you this."

This question hadn't occurred to Beaufils, but it seemed that Gawain wanted to tell him, so Beaufils asked, "Why?"

"Because, my boy, there is something in your face and the way you move that reminds me of Terence, as if you've come from the same place he does. I was wondering if you'd had any contacts from the people of that world. Tell me, Le Beau Desconus, have you ever met someone who seemed to you to be strange?"

"Everyone's strange to me," Beaufils pointed out.

"I mean someone who looked different from other people and who seemed to know things that other people didn't know and who only appeared to you when you were alone?"

Beaufils hesitated, frowning. Scotus, the old man who had told him about Galahad's dream, had said not to tell others about him.

Gawain was watching Beaufils's face closely, and now he smiled. "Never mind. I think I have my answer. How long have you known Galahad?"

"Just a few days," Beaufils replied. "We met on the way to court."

"He seems a fine lad, though a bit young to be 'the best knight in the world.' He can't be much more than sixteen. Even Lancelot wasn't called that until he was—"

At that moment Galahad himself rode up and joined them. "Beaufils," Galahad said, interrupting Gawain, "I've been asking the other knights and have learned that there is a church off to the east of us."

"Is there?" Beaufils replied agreeably. "Fancy that."

"I was shocked to see how few of Arthur's great knights joined me for early services this morning before we set out," Galahad said, his lips set disapprovingly. Gawain looked amused but said nothing. Galahad continued. "It is clear that this quest for the Holy Grail can only be achieved by a knight of utter purity, and so it behooves us to make confession as often as we can. Let us turn off this path and go to the church."

Gawain's smile grew. "You confessed before we left this morning and now you want to go confess again? Just what have you been up to over there?"

Galahad scowled but did not look at Gawain. "Come, Beaufils."

"Very well," Beaufils said. "Goodbye, Gawain. I hope we have a chance to talk again."

"I hope so too, lad."

Then Beaufils followed Galahad down a narrow track that led away from the other questing knights and into a thick wood. After nearly two hours, they came to a wooden building. It was small and roughly made, but on its roof was the pointy tower that seemed to be the mark of a church. Murmuring a prayer of thanks, Galahad dismounted and headed for the building. As he approached it, the door opened and two men appeared. One was a knight and the other a priest. Both men stopped, and Galahad bowed deeply to the priest. "Greetings, Father," he said. "I am a knight errant seeking absolution and spiritual guidance from your hand."

The priest looked momentarily flustered but after a moment said, "You are welcome, my son. I shall see to you as soon I bless Sir Brandegoris on his quest."

The knight, Sir Brandegoris, said abruptly, "Who are you? We haven't met, have we?"

"I am Galahad, son of Sir Lancelot," Galahad replied.

"Son of Lancelot? First I've heard of it!"

Beaufils chuckled and commented, "It was the first Lancelot had heard of it, too."

Galahad frowned, making Beaufils wonder if he had said something wrong, but Galahad didn't explain. He said, "I left my noble father at Camelot this morning that I might join the rest of Arthur's knights on the great quest."

"Great quest?" exclaimed Sir Brandegoris. "Dash it all, you leave court for a few days and everybody goes off on a quest. Say, they aren't after the Holy Shield of Evelake, are they?"

"Holy shield?" Galahad repeated, his eyes bright.

"Because if they are, they can all just go home again. I'm going to get that one myself."

The priest looked irritated and tried to usher Galahad into the church, but Galahad wouldn't be moved. "What shield is this?" he demanded.

"This priest here was just telling me about it," Sir Brandegoris said. "In the forest just down this path there's a shield hung on a tree. Only the greatest of knights can take that shield down."

"It is a sign from God!" breathed Galahad.

"Maybe so, but not for you," Sir Brandegoris said sharply. "I was here first, and I paid good money for the information."

The priest looked pained. "Please, Sir Brandegoris. You paid for no information. If you chose to make a donation to this church, that is your own affair, but I am no merchant."

"What? Oh, right. Blessed if I didn't forget that. It was a contribution, not a payment, and a jolly steep contribution at that. Oh well, I don't mind. I've plenty of coin." Sir Brandegoris tossed a clinking leather bag up in the air and caught it. The priest's eyes followed it up and down. "Anyway," the knight said, "I'm off to get that shield myself. Shall I bring it back and show you?"

"You must not, Sir Brandegoris!" the priest said hastily. "When this Holy Shield was left there by King Evelake, son of Joseph of Arimathea himself, he decreed that whoso took it must never use it just to show others its—"

"Joseph of Arimathea!" Galahad said breathlessly. "Truly, it is a sign! I must confess at once!"

"Well, why don't you do that, while I go fetch my new shield?" Sir Brandegoris said. With that, he dropped his bag of coins in his saddlebag, mounted, and rode away, while Galahad followed the priest inside. Beaufils went in for a moment, but this church didn't feel peaceful, like the other one, and after waiting a bit, he strolled back outside to curry Glover and Galahad's horse. He finished, and still Galahad remained inside, so Beaufils stretched out in a sunny spot to think about money.

He had been puzzling about this money for several days, actually. Sir Bors and Sir Lionel had explained to him as they rode together that what the bandits who attacked him had been looking for had been round flat metal things called money, or coins, and that everyone wanted these things. They had tried to explain why, but it had all seemed absurd to Beaufils. Since leaving Sir Bors and Sir Lionel, though, Beaufils had observed the truth of their words. In the marketplace at Camelot, he had seen how highly these round things were esteemed and had even watched a man trade a whole basket of food for just two or three of them. Beaufils had also noticed that some people seemed to feel good about themselves if they had some of these bits of metal—like Sir Brandegoris tossing his bag of coins up and down with so much satisfaction—and others, who didn't have as many coins, seemed to feel unhappy about it—like the priest who had gazed so hungrily at Sir Brandegoris's bag.

It was all very puzzling, and Beaufils was no closer to understanding it when at last Galahad and the priest appeared at the church door. Galahad seemed refreshed, but the priest looked almost haggard. "Thank you, Father," Galahad was saying. "I hope I didn't forget to confess something."

"I can't see how," the priest muttered irritably. "Unless you left out the sin of making too much of your own sins."

A cloud flitted across Galahad's brow. "Do you really think that might be a sin, Father? Do you think I should—?"

"No, no," the priest said hastily. "Not at all. And if it is a sin, I absolve you of it. No extra charge! Just go, please!"

"If you think that I am truly cleansed," Galahad said.

"Pure as snow!" the priest assured him.

A motion from the right caught Beaufils's eye, and the horse belonging to Sir Brandegoris appeared, walking back down the trail the knight had taken an hour before, with Sir Brandegoris himself slumped over the horse's neck. Galahad cried out and rushed over to the knight, but the priest only closed his eyes and sighed with frustration. It struck Beaufils that the priest wasn't surprised at all, and that his frustration wasn't because Sir Brandegoris was hurt but because Galahad had seen it.

"Beaufils! Come help me!" Galahad called.

Together, Galahad and Beaufils lowered the knight from his saddle. They removed his helm, and while Galahad examined him, Beaufils studied a deep dent in the back of the helm. Sir Brandegoris moaned and reached up one gauntleted hand to his head. "What happened?" he croaked.

"He clearly was unworthy to take down the Holy Shield of King Evelake," pronounced the priest. "Let it be a warning to all who so presume."

"I never even saw who hit me," Sir Brandegoris said with another groan.

Beaufils took the horse's head and spoke softly to the animal, calming it, and while he stroked its neck, he reached back and felt in the knight's saddlebags. The bag of money was gone.

"You stay here with this good priest," Galahad said, standing suddenly. "I shall seek this shield myself, and if the same enemy attacks me, I shall avenge your humiliation! Come, Beaufils."

Galahad raced to his mount and started at a gallop down the path toward the Holy Shield of King Evelake. It took Beaufils several minutes to catch up with his friend, but when he did, Galahad smiled delightedly at him. "I knew that this adventure would be ours after all. We seek the Holy Grail, brought to this land by Joseph of Arimathea, so of course we should have the shield of Joseph of Arimathea's son. God has provided for us again on our quest!"

Beaufils didn't bother answering. When Galahad talked fervently about God, he never noticed what anyone else said anyway. Beaufils was busy watching for hidden attackers. Ten minutes later, Galahad spied the shield, hung in the fork of a tree just off the path, and Beaufils spotted what he was looking for: a man crouching atop a boulder above the forest track. "Why don't you say one more prayer before you go get the shield?" Beaufils suggested, sliding off his mule and slipping into the forest. He circled around behind the boulder, then climbed noiselessly up behind the man. Galahad had finished his prayer and was just about to ride past the stone, his eyes fixed on the shield. The waiting man stood up, holding high in both hands a rock the size of a man's head. Beaufils stepped up behind the man and, grasping the stone just as the man began to throw it, held it in place. The man released the stone, and Beaufils allowed it to drop with a dull thunk onto the man's head. The man crumpled in a heap. Beaufils made sure that the man wasn't seriously hurt, stretched him out in a comfortable position, then searched him. Sure enough, Sir Brandegoris's money pouch was in the man's belt, so Beaufils took it and went back to Clover.

"Did you see, Beaufils?" Galahad asked. "The shield came away in my hands as easily as the sword came from the stone!"

"And now you have a shield, just as you wanted," Beaufils said.

"I must go back and thank the good priest who gave me absolution before this great trial," Galahad declared.

Beaufils looked thoughtfully at his companion. For himself, he was convinced that the priest was little more than a clever bandit, sending knights into a trap, where another man waited to bash them and steal their money, but it struck Beaufils suddenly that he shouldn't tell this to Galahad. Galahad regarded all priests as holy and blameless, and he'd never believe different. Beaufils shrugged and turned Clover back down the path after Galahad. He had to return Sir Brandegoris's money anyway.

On the fourth evening after they left Camelot, they came to what was by then their fifth church. This one was built of stone and looked older than the others they'd been to, and there were smaller slabs of carved stone scattered about the yard beside the church. At Beaufils's query, Galahad explained that those were graves, and while Galahad went in to see the priest, Beaufils strolled among the gravestones, understanding for the first time why his mother had told him to bury her body and then cover the burial place with stones. It hadn't been just an odd idea of his mother's; it was an established custom among people. Of course it was still odd, but when everyone does the same odd thing, it seems almost normal.

Beaufils was used to Galahad taking at least an hour for a confession, but he had been in the graveyard barely ten minutes when Galahad reappeared, accompanied by a priest.

"Here it is, Sir Knight!" the priest was saying breathlessly. "This grave right here. Since the children first heard the noises, no one from the village will enter the churchyard. Some won't even come to church. I've heard the sounds myself, after dark, and they drove fear into my heart. O Sir Knight, if this is indeed a spirit from below, do not face it unless you are truly pure of heart!"

"If I am not, then I can never achieve the quest I have undertaken, and it would be better for me to die anyway," Galahad replied. "Leave me now, and I shall pray while I await this visitation."

The priest agreed readily and hurried back into the church. Beaufils watched him run, then asked, "What's the matter here?"

"You had best leave me, Beaufils," Galahad said. "The people of this town have heard the sounds of a foul spirit coming from this grave, as if the soul is unclean and should not have been buried in holy ground. I have vowed to face it and drive it away if I am able."

"That was kind of you," Beaufils said. "I'll stay with you while you wait."

Galahad didn't seem to hear. He had sunk to his knees and was already deep in fervent prayer. While Galahad whispered to himself, Beaufils examined the grave. This one was more elaborate than most, being covered with a long, flat, carved slab of stone. The carvings were words, but while Beaufils could sound them out, they weren't words he knew. If a spirit did come out of the grave, maybe he could ask it what they meant.

Less than an hour later, just as the sun was about to disappear in the west, there came a scratching and a huffing sound from inside the grave. Galahad began to pray more loudly and his breath came in gasps, as if he had been running a great distance. The sound stopped, then resumed, and Galahad fainted.

He just crumpled and fell forward, bumping his forehead against the headstone. Pulling him away from the grave, Beaufils found that Galahad was panting and perspiring and moaning just as he had the night when Beaufils had met Scotus. Beaufils waited a moment until the scratching began again, then took hold of one end of the great stone slab and pulled it away from the grave. The scratching stopped. Beaufils lowered his head into the dark hole he had opened and said, "Hello? Anyone home?"

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Beaufils saw that the grave was not very deep, and in the faint moonlight even made out a few bones, scattered about, as if they'd been disturbed. Small piles of brush dotted the open hole. Just below the headstone Beaufils made out a second hole, round and about a hand's breadth wide. From this hole, two bright eyes peered out. Beaufils grinned. "Hello, dear," he said. He lowered his hand into the grave and waited expectantly. After a minute a hedgehog appeared from the round opening and sniffed Beaufils's hand tentatively. "You've been scaring the people around here," Beaufils said sternly. "Let's go find you another place to build a den." He carefully picked up the spiny creature and drew it from the hole, but as he lifted it out of the grave, Galahad moaned, and the hedgehog jumped from his hand and scurried back into its tunnel. Beaufils sighed. He had known many small animals when he was growing up, and he knew he'd not coax this one out again. For the next twenty minutes, Beaufils worked to plug up the hedgehog's tunnel with large stones. Then he pushed the slab back into place and waited for Galahad to awake from his swoon.

It was an hour before Galahad jerked into consciousness. "Did you see it?" he demanded.

"Yes, yes, I saw it," Beaufils said soothingly.

"What did it look like?" Galahad asked.

"Um, it had sharp points sticking out all over it," Beaufils replied carefully.

"Did it have a human shape?"

"No, not at all."

"Did it see me?" Galahad asked, his voice tense.

"Yes."

"What did it do?"

"It ran away. It was afraid of you, you see."

"Afraid of me!" Galahad repeated, wonder in his voice. "Then it is true! I truly am the purest of all knights! Even the spirits flee from me!"

Beaufils considered his friend in silence for a minute. He could tell him the truth, of course, but once again Beaufils knew instinctively that the truth would not be welcome. Galahad was so sure of his own way of seeing things that he wasn't really very interested in seeing anything that didn't fit. Beaufils realized with surprise that as much as he liked Galahad and respected him for his desire to do right, he was growing weary of his friend. You had to pretend too much when you were with Galahad, and it was starting to get tiresome.