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 station 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.

"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 winced. 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.