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Iwanet made a cross out of the javelin that had killed poor Ither to mark the site of his death and then threw the rest of the quiver away. The knight’s body was later carried back to the castle, where all the ladies wept that one so handsome and brave should die without honor—slain by a mere dart in the hand of a raw and foolish boy.
Meantime, the great sorrel horse had carried Parzival far away until it came to the castle of a prince named Gurnemanz. The prince had lost three sons in battle, so when he saw Parzival at his door, his heart went out to the youth as though Providence had sent a fourth son into his life.
“God keep you!” Parzival said upon meeting the prince. “My mother told me to seek advice from a man whose hair is gray. If you will teach me to be wise, I will serve you as my mother told me to.”
Prince Gurnemanz was overjoyed. “Tell me about yourself,” the prince asked. “Where have you come from?”
Then Parzival told the prince about his mother and how he had left her; about how he got a ring and a brooch; how he had caused a princess much pain; and how he had won his armor. These stories made the prince sigh. “Was I wrong?” the boy asked. “Shouldn’t I do as my mother instructed me? Why should Sir Kay treat the princess so harshly? And why did Iwanet refuse me my javelins?”
Gurnemanz’s noble heart sank as he listened to Parzival prattle on. For the sake of the code of chivalry and the boy’s own safety, he must begin at once to teach Parzival how to be a proper knight.
The prince’s first task was to persuade Parzival not to wear under his armor the sackcloth clothes and cowhide buskins his mother had made him, but to put on garments of silk and wool, worthy of the son of a king. Next, the prince took him to the jousting field and taught him how to use his sword and lance. Parzival was quick to learn and soon unhorsed all the opponents the prince sent against him.
Prince Gurnemanz also taught him proper manners. He urged him to be humble and discreet among nobility and to be compassionate toward the poor and needy—to hold ladies in high esteem and to temper daring with mercy. “If you have defeated a man in battle,” the prince said, “you do not need to kill him. Never kill, my son, unless you must.”
Parzival remembered the lark and the Red Knight and felt fresh sorrow for their deaths.
“And, my son, you must not constantly speak of your mother. It makes you seem like a child. Nor”—and here he sighed—“nor must you ask so many questions. When you ask questions, you make people think you are a simpleton.”
He begged Parzival to stay on at his castle, to marry his daughter and become in reality his son. But Parzival was impatient for adventure. “I’m not ready to marry, for I still have much to do before I come to man’s estate,” he told the prince. “When I am a famous knight, I shall come back and ask you for the hand of your pretty Liaze.” Parzival did not mean to lie, but he knew nothing of what lay ahead or that his heart would soon tread quite a different path.
Few horses known could travel as fast as the great sorrel, so it was by evening that Parzival found himself on the bank of a roaring river. On the other side of the river gorge was a walled city, and the only way to the city was by a bridge made of rope strung across the raging torrent, Before the gates of the city, Parzival saw more than fifty knights arme
d and helmeted for battle. When the knights realized that Parzival meant to cross over to the city, they cried out, “Go back! Go back!”
But Parzival urged his steed forward. Their first few steps out on the woven bridge made the whole span swing wildly from side to side. As fearless as he was in battle, at the sight of this bridge, the brave sorrel shied and would not go on. At length, Parzival dismounted and slowly eased himself and his terrified mount across the treacherous suspension. By the time they got to the other side of the chasm, the knights had disappeared and there was no light to be seen.
The gates of the darkened city were bolted, and at first no one answered his call or his knocking. But, at last, a tiny window in the wall opened and a young girl looked out. She thrust a lantern out of the opening to see who had knocked and saw the handsome Parzival below. “If you come as an enemy,” she called down to him, “I pray you be gone, for we have suffered enough from our enemies. If you come for shelter and food, we cannot help you, for the city has been under siege for many weeks and there is no food within these gates. It will be best if you go and leave us to die.”
Now Parzival remembered Gurnemanz’s teaching that a knight’s duty was to help those in need, so he said, “I have come for nothing but to offer my help to the king and people of this city.”
“Our king has died,” the girl said. “And it is for love of his daughter, our new queen, that we suffer. She will not give herself in marriage to her enemy, King Clamide, and he is determined to destroy us unless she relents.”
Parzival persuaded the girl to let him in and take him to the queen so that he could offer himself in her service. As he walked through the narrow streets, Parzival’s heart was moved to pity. Even in the dim light of the maiden’s lantern, he could see that the people were as pale and weak as plants that have never seen the sunlight. Children stared at his shining red armor with great sad eyes, but no one had the strength to greet him.
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.”
