The Broken Sword

Meanwhile PERCEVAL, having left his uncle's hermitage,

Had journeyed long through a great forest until one day, about noon, he emerged into a beautiful country, richly farmed on every side, filled with wheat and barley like the lands of the abbeys of Citeaux or Clairvaux. Perceval wondered to what country he had come, for it was at least two years since he had seen a land so abundantly endowed with all good things, so plentiful and populous. Then he caught sight of a splendid castle, of which all the walls and battlements were whiter than new-fallen snow. It had five handsome towers, all identical: one in the middle and four all round. But they were not all the same colour: the one in the centre was red and the others were whiter than snow settled on a bough. The sea beat at the wall's foot, and a river flowed on the other side, full of salmon, pike, perch and sturgeon. There was a great township inside the walls, nobly peopled with knights and serving-men, burgesses and merchants, liberal, courteous and well-bred, trading in furs of white and grey, in silk, samite and the finest cloth, in Byzantine and Norman coin, in horses and vessels of gold and silver, in pepper and wax, in cloves and spices of many kinds, most precious and expensive. Never has there been such plenty in any city. It all came by sea from Alexandria and Slavonia, from Babylon, from Mecca and Calabria, from Jerusalem and Caesarea, from Acre, which stands at the ocean's edge, and from far beyond the Saracen lands: the abundant riches of the castle came from all over the world.

There were two abbeys in the town, magnificently housed, with beautiful churches, handsome towers and splendid belfries, richly roofed with lead. Perceval, ravished by the sight, spurred his horse on until he reached the bridge, which stood upon vaulted arches and was so designed that it could be raised permanently at night; and there were crenellated barbicans at each end; and many other fine fortifications, all newly built, surrounded the whole castle.

Perceval rode through the gate, gazing about him in delight, and there in the streets he saw many knights and servants and townsmen and girls and rich young ladies, most nobly dressed. He did not stop until he reached the great hall; then four boys came running to meet him, and helped him from his horse at once and took his shield and lance, and without delay they led him into the handsome hall.

A young lady came to meet him, and she was of the greatest beauty; and twenty knights accompanied her. They all greeted Perceval and honoured him most highly, for they thought him very handsome and of noble bearing. They seated him on a carpet embroidered with silver flowers, and disarmed him, and brought him a short mantle of silken cloth lined with ermine.

Meanwhile the young lady confided in a girl, whispering to her secretly so that no-one else could hear: 'I've never seen a man in this mortal world who more resembled Perceval, my sweet friend whom I love so much and who suffered such danger on my account, winning back all my land for me, and vanquishing my enemies, Engygeron and Clamadeus.'

'Before God, my lady,' the girl replied, 'I do believe it is Perceval!'

And thereupon the young lady took him by the hand and seated him beside her on a rich silken cloth decorated with wheels. Perceval was in no way disconcerted and had no desire to hold his tongue; he was quick to ask her the name of the castle, and her own. The girl was only too pleased at this, for she didn't want him to stay silent.

'Sir,' she said, 'all who live in these parts call the castle Beaurepaire. And my name is Blancheflor. And now,' she said, 'tell me your name, good sir.'

Perceval gave a sigh, and blushed; and he looked anew at the girl and became so lost in thought that for a while he couldn't utter a word. But finally he replied, saying:

'Young lady, I shan't make a long sermon out of telling you my name. God preserve me, I'm called Perceval: I was born and raised in Wales.'

When the girl heard this her heart leaped for joy, and she couldn't hide her feelings but began to smother him with kisses. And knights and servants and girls and squires came to see the knight, and Blancheflor said to them:

'This is the good, the worthy, the noble Perceval, who rescued my land when Clamadeus was waging war on me! You're to treat him as your lord.'

Then there was jubilation in the hall, and the news spread through the city and the whole town rang with joy: there were more than thirty thousand souls rejoicing for Perceval. The bells rang in all the churches, and silken cloths adorned with gold were hung from the windows, beautifying the place still more. The celebration lasted all that day, not ceasing until late at night as the moon shone down serenely. The hall was filled with a brilliant light, for so many candles were blazing there that no-one could tell their number.

Now Perceval was a lord indeed; now he had everything he could wish; now his heart had no cause for sorrow; now it was filled with joy and happiness; now he no longer knew any sadness; now he could see his beautiful love, who was fairer than a flower upon a sapling; now he had the one of whom he had dreamed when he found the three drops of blood in the frozen snow.

They called for water, and it was brought at once in silver basins; great cloths were spread upon the tables, with knives and salt-bowls and rich and costly cups. Such abundant riches appeared there that no man's tongue could tell them all and no clerk's pen could ever record them. Perceval sat beside Blancheflor, whose colour was finer than a rose in bud, and he was more than contented, for before his eyes was the one he had thought he would never see again.

After they had eaten at their leisure they had the cloths removed; and the gentle-hearted Blancheflor had Perceval's bed made in the richest of chambers, lined with wooden panelling. And in the hall there was a high, clear, ringing music, wonderful to hear.

The celebration continued till nearly midnight, and then everyone departed, retiring to their houses in the town. The great hall was left quite empty; only the household now remained, and they took Perceval and laid him down in a magnificent and costly bed. And Blancheflor, filled with happiness and joy, lay down to rest in a chamber next to his. Then the candles, which burned brightly in the chambers and lit the whole palace, were taken away. And all who had been serving there that night went to bed and fell asleep, for they were very tired and weary.

But though they might sleep, Perceval stayed wide awake, still overwhelmed at having found his love. Nor had Blancheflor's thoughts drifted: she rose without delay and donned a white gown of ermine and left her chamber. All alone, without a chambermaid, she came to Perceval's bed, drew back the blanket and lay down beside her love.

She whispered to him: 'Don't think it wicked or foolish that I've come here: I've longed for you so much! And I tell you in all truthfulness, I would never take a husband if it meant being untrue to you.'

Perceval took her in his arms, for he greatly desired the pleasure of her embrace, and he found it pleasing indeed. He kissed her a hundred times without stopping.

They spoke of many things, and asked each other all kinds of questions. 'My lady,' he said, 'when was this castle rebuilt? The walls seem brand-new - the towers, too - and there are many ladies and girls and knights and burgesses and serving-men, all rich and well-to-do. It's well peopled with all kinds of folk, and the town and country are beautiful.'

'In faith, sir,' she said, 'this castle was badly damaged after it had been besieged by Engygeron - as you know very well, for it was you who raised the siege and delivered me and my land. But I couldn't be married to you then, for that was not yet your wish. So I remained alone and lost, while you set off for other lands in search of adventures to enhance your glory. And truly, I wished then that I were dead and buried, and that my soul had left my body! My heart was quite distraught, until the people of this land, who had fled because of the war, heard the news and came back to the castle; their return delighted me! Then I sent for craftsmen, a host of masons and carpenters, and had the walls rebuilt and new towers constructed. There: that's the story; now I've told you everything. And in the morning you'll marry me and the land will be yours; and you'll keep it in peace: there'll be no war. There are a thousand knights who'll all accept you as their lord.'

'Truly, my love,' said Perceval, 'I can't do that yet, for I've undertaken a journey that I wouldn't give up for all the wealth of Rome. But as soon as it's done I'll come straight back to you.'

'Sir,' said Blancheflor, 'I don't know what will come of this, but it isn't right for such a worthy man as you to abandon what he's vowed to do - not even for his love's sake. When you left me the other year I remember you told me you'd go and find your mother, and that once you'd seen her you'd return to me without delay. So I waited for you from then till now, and I'll wait again, for I'd rather suffer agony, and have my heart made dark and sad, than go against your will. I'll do just as you wish, since I can't hold you back by force or pleading. And even if I could it would be a great wrong if I did so and angered you, for a lady shouldn't do anything to displease or annoy her love. If she's come to love him with a noble love that's true and sure, then she should bear the pain that wrings her heart.'

Then she embraced him tightly and kissed him sweetly twenty times, and with a heart full of sorrow she said: 'There's nothing for it: you'll leave when you wish. But stay just two days more, and then you can go freshly equipped.'

Perceval agreed to this, but unwillingly, for he was eager to be on his way.

Then day began to break, and Blancheflor rose, grieving bitterly in her heart at what had been said, but she showed no outward sign of it. She returned to her own bed; and in spite of all her troubled thoughts she fell asleep at once, for she was very tired after staying awake all night. And Perceval, too, fell fast asleep.

The weather was beautiful and calm, and the sun shone brightly through the windows, filling the handsome hall with light. And soon the bells rang, summoning people to mass. Perceval awoke when he heard them; and his fair love Blancheflor sent a maid to him with a gown of silk embroidered with gold. Perceval was delighted, and rose and donned the gown; and without more ado he left the chamber and entered the great hall, and found it filled with knights and ladies who greeted him with the high honour that they owed their lord who had rescued them from the terrible plight into which Engygeron had plunged them. Then the fair Blancheflor appeared from her chamber, clothed in white samite adorned with golden flowers and silver stars; her mantle was made of the same cloth and richly lined with ermine; no man of woman born ever beheld such a beautiful girl. Perceval went to meet her; they greeted each other, and then went to the church together to hear mass. And everyone who saw them side by side was filled with wonder, and said that if you searched all the lands and seas you could never find a couple as beautiful as those two.

When mass was over they returned to the hall, where feasting and merrymaking began such as no-one could describe; the festivities and gaiety lasted all day long, without interruption. There was not a word of sadness, of poverty or of growing old, only of joy and happiness. Everyone present was blissfully happy.

Perceval stayed thus for three days, for his sweetheart begged him so earnestly. And when the fourth morning came Blancheflor rose, grieving bitterly that he meant to leave; she began to weep, imploring him to postpone his journey just one more day for her sake. But Perceval said he could delay no longer. He called for his arms and armed at once, and then bade that his charger be brought to him; it had been well cared for, and was richly harnessed with a brand-new saddle. And that was that. He kissed his love, whose heart was distraught and full of sorrow: her eyes filled with tears and her heart with sighs, but she stood there in silence.

Perceval addressed her most tenderly, saying: 'In God's name, my love, don't be so upset and sad at heart, for by Saint Gilles of Provence, I'll return to you as soon as I can!'

Blancheflor said not a word in reply, for her heart was so gripped by grief and sorrow that she couldn't have spoken at any price. The hall was packed with ladies and knights and townsfolk: they numbered more than four thousand. The highest among them spent a long while in consultation with him, begging him not to refuse to marry Blancheflor, who was beautiful and wise and rich. Perceval said he couldn't do so yet, but asked them not to be displeased, for he would return from the task he had undertaken just as soon as he could. Then he wouldn't leave the lady and the land for the rest of his life.

That was the end of their debate, and Perceval mounted his charger. A red quartered shield with a lion rampant of silver, newly made and decorated, was presented to him, and he hung it at his neck. Then, clutching a lance of apple-wood with a great, sharp head of steel, Perceval took his leave, commending them all to God. And he rode from the castle and was on his way.

Blancheflor was left desolate and mournful, and everyone with her grieved bitterly for Perceval; knights, townsmen and servants, ladies, girls and children all wept and lamented. To the one who had suffered martyrdom and accepted the agony of the Cross to free His people from Hell, to the almighty King of all, they commended him a hundred thousand times.

The good and loyal knight Perceval rode for fifteen days and met with no adventure worth relating, until he passed into a vast and beautiful forest. And high up in a tall tree, so high that he couldn't have been touched even with a lance, a child was sitting on a branch. In his hand he was holding an apple, and from here to Rome you wouldn't find so beautiful a being. He didn't look so much as five years old, too young to be without his mother. Perceval looked long at him, and turned his horse towards the tree. He halted beneath it and greeted him, and the child was quick to return his greeting. Perceval asked him to climb down, but he said he would not.

'You have no authority over me,' said the child. 'Although you're a knight I owe you homage for nothing I possess, and if I do I renounce all rights to it and yield it to you. Many words have reached my ears and truly had no effect on me: yours affect me not at all.'

'So it seems,' said Perceval. 'But tell me, am I on the right road for the house of the Fisher King?'

'You may well be, gentle friend; but I don't think I'm yet so learned as to be able to answer all your questions.'

'In faith,' said Perceval, 'none of the things I want to ask requires great thought before you reply. I want to know your name, and where you're from, and why you're sitting on that branch, and if you can tell me anything about the Fisher King. That's all.'

The child replied that he would tell him nothing about any of those things - neither truth nor falsehood. But he should know this much: 'You could go tomorrow to the pillar on Mount Dolorous, where you'll hear news, I believe, that will delight you.'

Then he stood up on the branch and climbed swiftly to a higher one; he hardly lingered there at all, but climbed from branch to branch right to the top of the tree, which was wondrously high. Perceval watched in astonishment. And unseen by Perceval the little child vanished from the tree, leaving him down below, peering all around. Unable to see any sign of him, Perceval set off on his way again, just as the day was fading. He slept that night at the house of a hermit, who received him most happily and gave him all he could provide.

Morning came, and before the sun had fully risen Perceval armed once more and took to the road. He drove his horse hard until almost noon; then he caught sight of Mount Dolorous far off in the distance: it was the most beautiful mountain in all the world, and so colossally high that Perceval was filled with wonder.

He reached the mountain's foot and paused awhile and then dismounted, for he saw that his horse was sweating and tired from the swift ride, and he took off the bridle and saddle and left him to graze and rest. Then he looked up and saw a girl approaching from the top of the mountain; she was riding a greyish palfrey which bore her swiftly along. He greeted her, and she replied most graciously and said:

'In God's name, sir, have mercy on yourself and me.'

'How do you mean, dear girl?'

'Don't go to the top of this mountain: it would be the utmost folly! No-one goes there and returns alive! My love went there this morning, the most esteemed of all men living in the world, and I don't know what's become of him. I've searched high and low but can see no sign of him at all, and my heart is dark and sad. A lady I met told me he'd lost his mind and rushed away like a man turned wild. Now I'm all alone and lost in this distant land. I don't know what to do or say; my heart is filled with grief and despair! But if you'll remount and avoid this mountain, I'll gladly come with you and serve you at your will.'

Perceval wouldn't lie to her: he swore that he would not depart, which grieved her deeply, for she was terrified of the great forest, so vast and lonely. But she crossed the plain and rode on until she disappeared into the wood. Then Perceval took his bridle and remounted, and rode on alone to the top of Mount Dolorous.

And there he found the pillar. He gazed at its magnificent workmanship: it was made of copper, and polished from head to foot; and it was as high as a crossbow-bolt could fly. It was surrounded by fifteen crosses, all at least sixty feet in height and made of solid stone to last forever. No human soul has seen so fine a piece of work: Perceval was astounded. Five of the fifteen crosses were red, five were whiter than snow on a branch, and the rest were a beautiful shade of blue; and all the colours were natural. Perceval gazed long at them, and then at the pillar, golden and tall and beautiful, and saw a ring attached to it. Around it was written in letters of fine silver - and in Latin, not a word of any other language - that no knight should dare to tether his horse to the pillar unless he was the equal of the finest knight in the world. Perceval dismounted and took the reins and tied them to the ring. He left his horse standing quietly, and propped his shield and his sharp, steel-headed lance against the pillar. Then he stood quite still, and took off his helmet as he waited to see if anything would happen. And suddenly a girl appeared, riding a white mule. To describe her beauty would take the longest day of summer. She rode steadily up and dismounted on the green grass before Perceval. She greeted him graciously in the name of God who never lies, and bowed to him with a true and humble heart. Perceval returned her greeting, gazing at her in wonder. The girl said nothing more, but walked straight up to the fine charger tethered to the ring and stroked his head and neck with her mantle, giving him the kindest and gentlest of welcomes.

'Sir,' she said, 'I know beyond all doubt that the whole world should worship and honour and bow to you and your horse, more than to any saint at any altar, for there is no knight to be found in all this world to equal you, who have brought your horse to Mount Dolorous and tethered him to the pillar's ring. You can now boast that you have greater honour than any knight of woman born has ever had in all his life!'

'Say what you like, friend,' said Perceval, 'but there are a good many finer than I. It would be quite wrong of me to consider myself the best.'

'You speak most nobly, sir,' she said. 'But enough: you must come down now to my pavilion. You'll be treated with all possible honour, before God you will!'

They mounted and set off, and rode straight down to her beautiful, rich pavilion, pitched on a heath below the mountain in the shadow of a fir. There they dismounted, and were received with joy by knights and a host of beautiful girls and ladies; and a bevy of servants came and disarmed Perceval from head to toe most courteously. Then the lady with the shining face led him into the pavilion and gave him a splendid gown of green samite bedecked with fur. The squires now hurried to set up the tables, and they all sat down to dine. By the time they had eaten and the tables had been cleared, the sun was fading and night fast approaching. In that grassy spot, so pleasant and broad and long and fair, Perceval and the young lady sat down together on the green grass while the squires made the beds in the pavilion. Perceval was questioning her, asking her kindly to tell him her name and where she was from, and why she had pitched her pavilion there beside the mountain, so wild and forbidding.

'My name,' she said, 'is the Lady of the High Peak of Mount Dolorous. I've a castle just beyond the mountain, but ten days ago a boy brought me word that he'd been at the court of King Arthur, where a good fifty of his finest knights made a vow that they would come to the pillar on Mount Dolorous; that's why I had my pavilion pitched here: I wanted to see the cream of all knighthood. But enough of them: if you'd like to hear the true story of the pillar, I'll gladly tell you.'

'Indeed I would,' said Perceval.

'Then listen, sir. When King Arthur was born, he was the most beautiful creature that Nature had ever made, applying all her powers to his creation. The king his father was told that three ladies had been present at his birth. The mistress of the three said that Arthur would have esteem and valour and wisdom and prowess greater than any man of woman born. When Uther Pendragon heard this he rejoiced in his heart. One day he was in his castle in the forest of Gloucester, sitting at a window overlooking a lake. He was gazing at the water and the meadow and the beautiful forest when a girl appeared before him, most splendidly dressed.

'"Sir", she said to him, "the other day I went out riding, and as evening fell I found a girl sitting in a beautiful meadow beside a stream from a spring; I sat down beside her to rest awhile, and we began talking of one thing and another, until finally she told me that you had a son who would be held in greater esteem and awe than his father who was a king and an emperor. I've been searching for you to tell you this, so that you may cherish the child, who'll be of great service to many men".

'The king had a magician called Merlin, and while the girl was talking he'd been standing nearby, listening but not saying a word. The king saw him and called to him, saying: "Wise sir, do you know anything about this?"

'"Sire", said Merlin, "I know indeed that he'll be of very great might, and of higher nobility than any Christian man before him. In his household he'll have many kings and princes and barons, and a hundred more in his company as good as he at enduring the fiercest battle. I trust this will not displease you, sire".

'Uther Pendragon began to laugh with joy at what he'd heard, for he trusted Merlin more than anyone in his land, great and wide and filled with worthy men though it was. Then the king summoned Merlin to tell him one thing more: how he could identify the finest knight in his land at enduring battle and combat, and the most endowed with all knightly qualities. Merlin said he would tell him, but he needed a fortnight's respite; and he left the court and began searching the forests and mountains and heaths and plains, until he found this great peak. Then he set to work and made the crosses and the pillar - by the art of necromancy. My mother was then still young, and she became his mistress; and he built for her the beautiful house which is now my castle. When the time came for him to return to Uther Pendragon, he found him at Carlion in Wales. There in his hall, in the presence of a thousand knights or more, he told the king he'd found a pillar to which no-one could tether his horse except the finest knight in all his land. The king was delighted; and he led several fine knights of high esteem to the pillar, but ill befell them there. Merlin left the court and came to live with my mother - and became my father. You shouldn't doubt my words, for I've told you the story as true as the Paternoster. But enough: night's upon us; let's go and sleep and rest.'

Squires and serving men appeared bringing wine, and they drank; and without much further talking the young lady went to her bed in a beautiful chamber made for her in the pavilion. And in a rich and luxurious bed, most handsomely prepared, the worthy Perceval lay down. He slept all night without stirring, until God, the lord of all things, made the blazing sun appear to light up the world. Then the brave and mighty knight rose and dressed, and clad himself in all his armour. With his helmet laced, his shield slung round his neck, his sword at his waist and his lance in hand - sullied only with dark, congealed blood - he mounted his fine charger; and the young lady mounted likewise and they set out from the tent.

They rode on through the valley until they found a broad path through the great, leafy forest.

'Sir,' she said then, 'tell me, if you will, to which land you're going.'

'I'm going to the court of the Fisher King,' he replied, 'if I can find the way.'

'Take the path you see ahead. Have no doubt - it'll lead you straight there. If you ride swiftly and keep to the path you'll be there tomorrow morning.'

With that she took her leave. And Perceval commended her to God and rode swiftly away.

He rode on along the wide, beaten track until noon. Then a great swirl of cloud began to churn the air, and thunder and lightning and rain swept down with such violence that Perceval could barely see for the mighty storm. All the beasts of the forest shook with fear of the tempest, and even the hugest trees were torn down on every side. Until three o'clock neither the storm nor the wind abated. But Perceval battled on, not stopping despite the terrible weather, and rode on until night fell. And when the moon appeared, the night became so calm and soft and tranquil that never since the day he was born had he seen a night so clear. And the stars gleaming in the firmament shone so sharply that each one could be clearly seen. Perceval rode on through the beautiful moonlight. All his heart and mind were set on recalling what he had seen before when the good king had given him lodging and the bleeding lance had appeared. And he longed above all to know about the Grail - the rich and precious Grail, so beautiful and glorious and encrusted with gems. Pondering deeply on these things he rode along, and swore that if he ever found that house again, he would ask the king the truth about them all.

He was still thinking about this when he looked ahead and saw, a long way off, a huge and leafy oak, right in the middle of his path. And on the tree were more than a thousand candles - of miraculous size, it seemed to him; twenty or thirty on every branch. Perceval didn't linger but rode straight on towards the tree, which seemed to be ablaze with candles; but with each approaching step, the dazzling light faded away to nothing. By the time he arrived he found not a single candle, large or small. But he caught sight of a chapel beyond the tree, and through the open door he could see a candle inside, burning. He dismounted, leaving his horse standing quietly by the wall. Then he entered the chapel and looked up and down, and saw not a mortal man or woman or any living thing; but on the altar there lay a slain knight. Over him was spread a cloth of samite, richly dyed, embroidered with many golden flowers, and before him burned a single candle, no more, no less. Perceval listened hard for approaching footsteps, but none came. He suffered this frustration for a long while, neither happy at having to linger there nor wanting to leave, until midnight drew near. Then he stepped out of the chapel to unbridle his horse. But he'd not gone two paces from the door when the light which had lit the chapel was suddenly snuffed out. Perceval was well aware of it, but refused to be alarmed, and didn't shake or tremble. He mounted without delay and soon left the chapel and the tree far behind.

Pondering deeply in his heart upon the wonders he had seen, he rode on until he came to a beautiful oak tree, tall and wide. The grass beneath it was long and thick, and he dismounted at once and unbridled his horse, and left him there to graze till daybreak.

Then he mounted again and journeyed on all morning. He found himself crossing a dismal waste of barren ground. Suddenly he heard a great horn sound three long blasts far off in the distance; he turned that way immediately and headed on with all speed, eager to find its source, until he saw a pack of dogs in pursuit of a huge boar, and four hunters following behind on fine hunting-horses. Perceval rode to meet them and greeted them most courteously, and one of them drew rein and asked him where he was going. Perceval replied that he was searching for the house of the rich Fisher King.

'By God the Creator,' said the huntsman, 'we're all in his service; and if you cross the peak you can see ahead; you'll find the hall and the tower beside the river, not a league and a half away!'

At that Perceval left him and rode on, overjoyed at the news. Then he saw a girl coming straight towards him, mounted on a dappled palfrey. She was richly dressed in indigo samite embroidered with silver flowers, and had a fine, pure beauty. She rode down at an easy pace, and as soon as Perceval met her he greeted her nobly in the name of God who never lies.

'May He bring you joy and honour,' the girl replied. 'Now tell me, please, where you lodged last night.'

'In the forest,' he said; and he told her about the tree and the brilliant light, and how he had been in the chapel with the body of the dead knight, and how, when he stepped outside to unbridle his horse, the candle had been snuffed out.

'Truly,' said the girl, 'this is of great significance. You are to learn the truth about the lance and the Holy Grail.'

Perceval was elated; and he told her how he had seen the child in the tree, so very young that he did not believe he could yet have left his mother. 'Dear girl,' he said, 'I wish you could tell me why he wouldn't speak to me, and why he disappeared.'

'I couldn't, sir, before God,' said the wise girl, 'but everything you've told me is a sign of the holy secret of which you'll soon hear news.'

With that she promptly rode away, and for all his calling after her she would not say another word. So he set off towards the court of the Fisher King, following the path that the huntsmen had shown him, over the mountain-top.

He rode on until he caught sight of the castle standing near the river; then he spurred his horse on eagerly. As soon as Perceval entered the castle servants came from all sides and greeted him with the utmost joy. They disarmed him and dressed him in a long mantle; then they passed through the great hall and led him into a chamber. Never had its like been seen: it was not painted as other chambers are, for looking up he saw the ceiling illuminated with gold and tiny silver stars; but there was no other decoration: on the walls round about there was no blue or vermilion, or green or red or any other colour - they were lined instead with panels of gold and silver. And there were images worked into the gold, inlaid with a thousand precious stones which filled the chamber with light. Anyone entering that room could not fail to wonder who could have created such a place, and Perceval was spellbound.

He found the king sitting inside, and greeted him nobly in the name of the king of Paradise; and the good king replied like the kindly man he was, and seated him at his side. Perceval was dying to see the Grail for which he had been striving so long, and the lance, too, with the bleeding head. His heart was set upon it, but he did not see it yet. The good king gently asked him to tell him where he had slept the night before; Perceval replied that it was in the forest, and told him straight away about the chapel he had found, and how he had gone inside and seen the knight lying upon the rich cloth; and how, the moment he went out, the candle had been extinguished.

'And sire,' he said, 'I found a child in a great, leafy tree, sitting high up on a branch, who vanished after saying just a word or two. And he told me no secrets about anything except Mount Dolorous: he told me that there I would encounter

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Something very pleasing to me - and that was true, indeed: what I saw and heard delighted me, for there are many wonders in that place.'

The king heard this and sighed, and asked him if he had seen anything else that had puzzled him. And Perceval replied: 'No, sire; but if it's no trouble to you, I'd gladly ask about the child in the tree. What was the significance of his climbing from branch to branch, right to the very top? And I'd like to know about the slain knight in the chapel, and the tree of candles: all these things have mystified me.'

The king was silent, and Perceval fell to thinking. All the knights then washed, and the king invited Perceval to eat with him from his own bowl. They had not been seated long when a girl, fairer than an April flower upon a sapling's branch, appeared from a beautiful chamber. She was holding the Holy Grail in her hands. She passed before the table, and was followed a moment later by another girl dressed in white, embroidered silk. She was carrying the lance which dripped blood from its tip. And a boy followed after her, carrying a naked sword broken clean in half across the middle. He laid it on the table, on the corner by the king. Perceval was in turmoil, not knowing what to ask first - about the Grail or the lance, or the broken sword. The king kept summoning him to eat well, asking him repeatedly. And back came the girl, holding in her hands the Grail, so glorious and holy; and behind her came the one with the lance. Perceval leaned towards the king, and said to him:

'Truly, sire, I'd dearly love to hear the truth about the Grail which has passed before us twice, and also about the lance that bleeds; who does it serve and what is done with it? And tell me about that broken sword, and if it will ever be repaired?'

The king replied: 'Dear friend, you've asked me a very great deal, but I'll tell you the truth about it all. I'll tell you first about the child, for that is the beginning. I tell you, with all certainty, that he was a divine being, and felt such hatred for you, because of the dreadful sins with which you were stained, that he wouldn't say a word to you. And know this: he gave you an important lesson when he climbed from branch to branch to the top of the great tree, and I'll tell you why. When God first made the Earth and all the creatures in it, the birds and fishes and wild beasts, they were made with their faces always earthward, searching for their food. But God didn't wish to make man thus; instead He raised man's face to see the vast height of the firmament and the riches with which the Lord God lit the whole world He had made. And so that he should remember the one who had made him so beautiful and so noble, like Himself, God made man in no-one's likeness but His own. And now they repay Him by straying from His commandments and devoting themselves to sin. The child who vanished from the tree and mounted heavenwards was showing you symbolically that you should think of the Creator high in Heaven, and without delay, so that He may be sure to receive your soul and place it in His Paradise; for, my good dear friend, you've been enmeshed in folly for a long while. He's a fool indeed who forgets God for the sake of earthly

Gain, for then he loses the praise and riches that God promises to His faithful. But of the tree of candles, which so astonished you, and of the chapel and the body of the dead knight, and of the lance and of the Grail, you'll hear me say neither good nor ill until you've eaten.'

With that he fell silent: for the moment he would say no more. Perceval was so on edge that he could neither eat nor drink, and the good king very gently summoned him again to dine. Perceval was very troubled, and said to the king:

'Before dinner's finished I'd be very glad to hear at least about the broken sword.'

And the king replied: 'Since you're so eager I'll tell you. If some worthy man - a man full of chivalry and free of wickedness, who loved and honoured God and Holy Church - if such a man laid his hand upon the sword and set the pieces together, I think that in a moment it would be whole again. Look: here it is. Take it, I pray you, and join the two pieces. If you can do so, I'll tell you about the knight at the chapel, and then about the rich Grail and the lance, and anything else you wish. Have no fear: you'll hear about the adventures which have been so strange and taxing, and when you hear them you'll be amazed. But first, I beg you, place your hand upon the sword, for by you, I believe, it will be repaired.'

So Perceval took the pieces and put them together; and the steel blade joined so finely that the day it was made it had not seemed better burnished or more handsome. But just by the join there remained a very small notch; and the king said:

'Listen, dear sir. You've striven hard at the art of arms, I know you have. From this test I know for sure that, of all men now living in the world, there is none of greater worth than you in combat or in battle; but you've not yet done enough to have God bestow on you the praise, esteem and courtesy, the wisdom and the chivalry, to enable us to say that of all knights you were the most endowed with all high qualities.'

Perceval was so lost in astonishment that he did not know what to say; and he sighed so deeply that all those seated at dinner marvelled. But the king looked at Perceval and flung his arms around his neck with the utmost joy, and said:

'My good, dear friend, be lord of my house! I willingly bestow upon you everything I have, and henceforth will hold you dearer than any man alive.'

Perceval was greatly comforted by the Fisher King's words, but he felt a sinner indeed since he could not know the truth about the Grail. But he eagerly asked the king to tell him where it was being taken and who was served from it, and why the lance bled. The king replied immediately, saying:

'After dinner you shall hear things that will delight you, but I shall not speak about the Grail, nor will you know the secret of the lance - not until the notch in this sword has been repaired by your hands. But I'll tell you this: I know of no man in the world who can learn these things but you; but make sure you don't lose that prize through sin. And if you do fall into sin and anger God, then confess and repent and do thorough penance. And know this, too, and never doubt it: if you can return here, it may well be that you'll repair the notch, and then you could ask about the Grail and the lance; and then you would know the profound truth, the secrets and the divine mystery.'

Perceval sighed, and wondered what sin or offence prevented him from learning the secrets of the Grail; but the king would reveal no more, except that he made him realise that it was a dire sin he had committed towards his mother when she had fallen dead at the foot of the bridge on the day he left her. And he said that until he had atoned for that sin, and others, the secrets of the Grail would not be told or revealed to him. Then four servants opened the door of a chamber and carried the king away to his bed; others removed the table and made a bed for Perceval beside the fire, most rich and splendid: it was set upon a silver frame, and the sheets were fine indeed. And there Perceval lay down and slept very deeply.

But at midnight bells rang out so loud and clear that Perceval, who had been asleep awhile, started up, wide awake. He peered ahead, and saw a light so bright that, in the fields on the fairest summer's day, none brighter is ever seen. Then he heard a song so sweet that it seemed to him quite glorious, and it grieved him deeply that it was so short-lived, that beautiful, precious song of God and His sweet mother. Perceval laid his head down again, but heard a voice that cried out to him, saying:

'Perceval, I have been sent to you. Go tomorrow, my good, dear friend, and seek the house where you were born, and go to the aid of your sister who is at the mercy of strangers. I commend you to God.'

With that the voice departed, leaving Perceval pondering on the thought that he was to suffer still more toil before he saw the Grail again. He was longing to be off once more, for he had no wish to stop until he could learn all the mysteries of the Grail. But he laid his head down again, and after a while he fell asleep, and slept and rested till daybreak.

When it was light he awoke, but was astonished to see neither hall nor house; instead he found himself in a beautiful meadow beneath a flowering bush, and his horse beside him, saddled and bridled. And hanging from the saddle-bow was a magnificent sword, with a pommel of gold and a scabbard of golden thread from Venice, just like the one he had received on his first visit to the Fisher King. He was quite bewildered; but at last he stirred himself and armed and mounted.

'Truly,' he said to himself, 'I don't think any earthly man has experienced such wonders! By the Saviour, I was lodged last night, I remember clearly, at the house of the rich Fisher King; and I saw the Grail and the ever-bleeding lance, and the broken sword which I joined together - except for the notch which has still to be repaired. And now I find myself here all alone! By your grace, my dear lord God, show me the way to my mother's house.'

Thus praying, Perceval rode through the meadow until he saw a crenellated ring of wall, and was filled with wonder, for one half of the wall was red and the other white. Perceval swore that before he went on he would learn who was within; and he rode around it until he found a gate. He thought he would be able to enter, but the gate was shut fast. So he cried out, calling for it to be unlocked, but no-one said a word; yet he could hear loud sounds of rejoicing inside, with pipes and organs, harps and hurdy-gurdies playing; and the melodies were so beautiful and sweet that Perceval forgot every trouble he had known since the moment he was born. Then he called out again, saying:

'Open the gate! Let me come in and see your rejoicing!'

But he heard not a word in reply.

'In faith,' he said, 'I see they scorn my call.'

And he drew his new sword at once, and hammered on the gate with the pommel; but at the third blow he dealt, such terrible thunder and lightning fell that it seemed like the end of the world; and the sword of fine steel broke in half across the middle. Perceval was distressed indeed to see his good, new sword broken, just as the other had broken so easily before. Then suddenly a man with hair as white as snow came to the gate. He opened the wicket just a crack and saw Perceval clad in iron, and said:

'What do you want, vassal, shouting and hammering at our gate? The devil who drove you to it has brought you much misfortune! Your sword now needs to be repaired, I see, for it's broken across the middle; and you've thus lengthened by seven whole years your toil to see the lance that bleeds; nor, I promise you, will you learn the secrets of the Grail until all your sins are washed away by confession, with true repentance and deeds of penance, which will free you of all evil.'

'Oh, good sir!' cried Perceval. 'Open your wicket-gate wide, for I can see so great a light shining inside that it seems a glorious place to be - I can see everyone laughing with joy!'

'Vassal,' the white-haired man replied, 'you'll see no more till you return here. But if you can return, it may well be that you'll witness all our joy, and know the certain truth about the Grail, and why the lance bleeds - those things for which you've toiled so hard.'

'Oh, sir!' cried Perceval. 'Tell me if my sword will ever be repaired!'

'Yes,' the worthy man replied. 'The one who made it knows the hazard which caused it to be broken. Take it to him, and it'll be repaired; but no-one else will ever do so.' Then he said: 'Wait here: I'll be back with something that will help you, for I feel very sorry for you.'

He went at once, and was soon back at the gate, carrying a small, round, neatly written letter. It looked as if it could be swiftly read, but anyone who tried would find it a tiring task, for if he read all year he would not have finished it. He handed it to Perceval.

'Vassal,' he said, 'you may be sure of this: you'll never be tricked or defeated by an enemy, nor will any man, however lost or wild his mind, fail to recover

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His senses if he lays this letter on his head. Vassal, you're seeking something so holy that it will never be attained by any man unless he is clean of all sins, and you are deeply stained with them. You have seen quite openly the earthly Paradise; we, hereafter, shall have the celestial Paradise of ultimate glory. All men should desire to win the perfect joy which lasts forever. Go, you shall know no more for now; but remember the letter I gave you, friend.'

With that he turned away. And Perceval, having listened to the worthy man's words, held the round letter in his hand and said: 'Wherever I may go from here, I'll hang this from my neck; I'll do it now.'

He did so, and then gathered up the pieces of his good sword and slid them into the scabbard. Then he turned his horse about and set off, riding swiftly across the meadow. But, chancing to glance back, he could see no sign of the ring of wall; he had not yet ridden a bow-shot's length, yet all he could see was open ground.

He drove his horse on swiftly until, towards evening, he left the meadow-land behind. He now beheld rich pasture and ploughed fields and vineyards and rivers and townships of many kinds, populous and supplied with great riches. Perceval was astonished, and said:

'This is a marvel. Last evening when I came this way I found the land waste and deserted, and now it's teeming with all kinds of wealth.'

And he looked ahead and saw a fortified tower, two hundred feet high, surrounded by a wall with many splendid turrets; and below it was a town more noble and beautiful than any as far as Constantinople. Then Perceval turned his gaze and saw, just outside the town, a great house in the middle of a lake: in no romance or any lay will you hear of one so delightful. He saw a peasant sowing corn in a field, and rode straight to him and asked him who was the lord of the castle. And the peasant replied:

'Go there, sir: they're all waiting for you, and will receive you with jubilation!'

So he rode on at once, without delay, wondering what he meant. And everyone at the castle was filled with joy when they saw him, and rushed to meet him with crosses, in procession, saying:

'Sir, you've restored to us everything we'd lost: thanks to you we've recovered our riches and our meadowlands, our goods and all our pasture-lands, and all temporal wealth!'

Perceval, baffled by their words, was led with much rejoicing to take lodging in the castle. And when they had disarmed him, a beautiful girl brought him a fur-lined robe, a surcoat and a mantle to wear, with a splendid purse on a belt which was fastened with a golden buckle inlaid with rich jewels; and when Perceval was thus arrayed there was not a more handsome man in all King Arthur's kingdom, nor any so bold and strong. Then a lady appeared from

A chamber, and Nature never made a fairer, wiser or more courteous creature. She had the comeliest body and a charming face; she was tall and young and elegant, upright in bearing and shapely, with fine shoulders, a slender waist, and hips as wide as one would wish. Her hair shone bright as gold - it seemed indeed to be threads of gold, it was so fair; and her forehead was whiter than snow; she had sparkling eyes, wide and laughing, and warm, red lips. The colour of her cheeks was a thousand times brighter than a rose on a May morning: white blended with red so perfectly that it was a marvel. She was dressed in two layers of samite, one green and one red, and on her head she wore a chaplet emblazoned with two lion cubs. Her name was Escolasse. As soon as Perceval caught sight of her he stepped forward to greet her - but she did not give him time to do so: she greeted him first.

'Sir,' she said, 'you've restored us to wealth and honour and freed us from great misery through your unmatchable valour and goodness. Welcome to this house! And welcome you shall be, if I can make you so.'

'Lady,' he replied, 'I'm glad I've been of service. But upon my soul, I don't know what I've done for you!'

'Sir,' she said, 'you've been to the house of the Fisher King and asked about the Grail, which has brought us great benefit, for in this kingdom every river and spring was dry and the land was waste and barren; now they're full of health once more. And when you asked why the lance bled, you repaired the whole country, so that now it's rich and plentiful, well stocked with all the good things of which we were in dire need before. You've brought help to us all! But when you were there the first time and saw the Grail and the bleeding lance, you would have learned the truth and all its meaning if you'd asked at once, and the rich king would have been healed of the wound which brings him grief and anguish; but I think that, if you devote unceasing energy and thought, you may yet earn the right to learn the perfect truth.'

With that the young lady took Perceval's hand and led him to a window to entertain him with conversation until nightfall when supper would be ready. Perceval leaned there and looked down at the beautiful lake below the castle and noticed again the house that stood in the middle; and he saw the flame of a great furnace, bluer than azure, rising from a chimney. He asked the girl how a fire came to fling forth such a flame; and she replied:

'I'll tell you, sir. In that house on the lake lives an aged smith. A king gave him the house in return for three swords: he has a forge there where he made all three. One of them consumed his efforts for a whole year, and it was sharp and solid, magnificently made; and he said that it would never be broken except by one hazard which he alone knew: by that hazard the splendid sword would be broken, and it would never be repaired except by him. And that strange, deep blue flame has never since gone out; yet no fire is kept there, and he's never since wished to forge again: were he given a coffer full of gold he still would not return to forging, for he knows he won't live long after he's repaired that other sword. I'm telling you the truth, and I tell you this: at the foot of his bridge are two serpents in chains, and no man of woman born could pass through his gate and return with life and limb, though the doors are always open. Now hear, dear friend, why the serpents have been placed there: it's so that, if someone came to this land to repair the sword, the evil serpents would kill him as soon as he tried to enter the forge. Unless he flew like a bird, I promise you, he'd be torn to pieces!'

When Perceval heard this he was overjoyed, for it seemed he had found the place where the pieces of his sword would be joined once more. Then he questioned the girl again, saying: 'Lady, tell me the name of this castle; it's a delightful place.'

'It's called Cothoatre; and the house below is called the Lake. Let's go and have supper now, for it's time.'

So they went and washed, for all was ready, and dined at the high table. That night Perceval was served most handsomely, and after supper they went to their beds. Perceval's was spread with two sheets from Constantinople, and at each corner there hung a little golden bell, so perfectly tuned that when they rang together they made a delightful melody. Any man, however ill, who lay upon that bed would be released from all pain. Perceval lay down, and found it rich and beautiful indeed; and the girl whispered sweetly in his ear that if he wanted pleasure she would lie there with him in the bed, for he had deserved it. She looked so lovely to Perceval that he did not know whether to refuse or accept - and he trembled in every limb as he remembered the quest he had undertaken for the Grail.

'In faith,' he said, 'I think she means to deceive me, or else she always asks knights for love, and I'm not the first! But a man should always fear sin, both in word and deed, if he wants to conquer Paradise.'

Perceval shivered at the thought, and said to the girl: 'Fair lady, I've no need of that just now. But truly, I refuse you only because it would be a great sin if I ruined your virginity or mine.'

The girl was filled with shame, and said: 'As God's my witness, sir, I said what I said to fulfil your wishes. Now that I see your desire is to shun the sport I offered you, it is my desire as well.'

At that she left without another word, and went to her chamber to sleep. Perceval, thinking about the Grail and nothing else, fell asleep, and slumbered on until daybreak when the watch sounded the dawn.

Then he arose at once, impatient to be off. The girl came and begged him earnestly to stay, for she would honour him most highly if he would accept her service. But no plea or promise could persuade Perceval to delay. She led him to a handsome chapel to hear mass, where they were told about Our Lady, the jewel of them all. After mass she had food brought to him: a roast salted capon; and when he had eaten Perceval quickly armed, girding on his broken sword, and then mounted at once with his shield and his lance. To see him safely on his way the girl mounted, too, and all her people with her. Perceval noticed an axe hanging on a hook, and he went and took it; then he rode down through

The castle with Escolasse at his side. As he passed through the streets all the people came thronging, and bowed low to him on every side and loudly cried:

'Sir, you've restored our joy and prosperity: how can we help feeling grief when you leave so soon?'

Perceval, with the axe in his hand, left the castle and rode towards the house in the middle of the lake. Outside the gate, at the head of the bridge, were chained two serpents, huge and fierce and hideous. No man ever beheld such a perilous passage. But he advanced towards them swiftly and dismounted. And the girl cried:

'Sir, what do you mean to do?'

'To repair my sword, lady, by overcoming these serpents and entering this house!'

'Oh, gentle knight! Do you want to die?'

'It's no use trying to stop me. I want to know if there's a man here who can repair my sword, for I was told that if it were broken it would be mended here.'

Hearing this, all the people present begged him to have mercy, warning him to stay away from there. But Perceval would not delay a single moment. He advanced towards the bridge, holding his shield before his face and praying earnestly. He clutched the axe in both hands and stepped on to the bridge to meet the demon beasts. When the serpents saw him coming they turned wild, rearing up in rage and lashing and clawing at the sandstone slabs of the bridge. Then they surged towards him, blazing in their eagerness; Perceval waited until they had reached the full extent of their chains, and then charged at them in a fury, brandishing the great axe, and struck one such a blow that he sent both its feet flying. It recoiled in horror, but the other flung itself at Perceval and plunged both feet into his shield; no weapon, however sharp, could have smashed through with such ease. When Perceval, alert as ever, saw that its claws had broken through, he thrust the beast back with the shield and threw the strap off over his head. It was a fine ploy, for hampered by the shield it could not use its legs, and Perceval, seeing the serpent's plight, swung his axe and sliced clean through its neck to send the black and hideous head flying into the water. But the first serpent lashed its tail at Perceval, and sent him crashing to the ground two yards behind; then it coiled itself into a ball and grasped so firmly with its hind legs' claws that it fixed them in a marble stone; then out it snaked in a lashing attack; but Perceval leaped up with his axe and with an awesome blow he hacked through the serpent's throat and chest and down into its bowels, and from its loathsome body a red smoke belched. Perceval took the shield that the serpent had seized and pulled it from its claws; he hung it at his neck by the strap, and stood staring at the marks of the serpent's blow.

When Escolasse and her people saw that Perceval had killed the two hideous serpents, the anguish they had felt turned to joy. And they brought him his horse and he mounted and set off, and rode through the gate of the house on

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The lake and found its master. Perceval greeted him with great respect - as was proper, for he saw that he was very old.

'God save you, sir,' said Perceval.

But hearing this, the old man, white with age, was distraught and said: 'Curse your coming! I know what it is you want! Did you enter here on wings?'

'No,' said Perceval. 'I defeated the two crested serpents. I battled with them and killed them both, thanks be to God; show me now, without delay, where I can find the smith who used to forge here.'

'What do you want with him?'

'God save me,' said Perceval, 'he must repair my sword.'

When the lord of the house heard this he trembled and turned pale; and he saw the sword at Perceval's side which he himself had made, and knew very well where it had been broken.

'Vassal,' he said, 'you have greatly sinned in breaking your sword, which I made many years ago. You broke it at the gate of Paradise, I see; and I tell you, unless I repair it, it will remain forever broken.'

With that he unlocked a wicket-gate and said: 'Dismount, vassal, and give me your sword. I'll join the pieces together; and there will never be any risk of it breaking again, whatever blow may be struck with it.'

Perceval handed him the sword at once. And the aged lord took a great pair of bellows and blew on the ever-burning fire. He took the pieces and set to work, and reforged the sword so perfectly that there was no sign that it had ever been broken. He burnished it with exceeding care, and repaired the inscription; then he returned it to its scabbard and said:

'I'll tell you now, vassal: you should be counted the finest knight in the world. You've been through many perilous tests, I know, and many winters and summers, too, for the sake of the Grail - but you've more to go through yet, I think. And I can tell you this as well: I've not much longer to live.'

So saying, he handed him the sword. Perceval girded it on and courteously took his leave; then he mounted and set off on his way, passing back through the gate and over the bridge. The young lady Escolasse and her people came to meet him, giving him a joyful welcome, and they detained him as long as they could; but try as they might they could not keep him: he set out once more, and they accompanied him and guided him to a great road.

There Perceval bade them farewell, and Escolasse made her way back to her castle. With his shield at his side, Perceval rode on without further delay; but he had not gone far from the castle when he heard bells ringing in all the churches, for Triboet, who had repaired his fine, sharp, sturdy sword, was dead.

Perceval rode hard all day, following a path through a great forest, until he saw a cross and a small church, old and ruined. He dismounted there, tethered his horse to a stake, laid down his lance and shield and composed himself; then

He entered the chapel. He appealed over and over to the mother of God, for her image was upon the altar, praying that she might keep him from harm and misfortune, and grant that he might find the lance that bled unceasingly, and the Grail. Then he returned to his horse and removed his bridle, and wiped his head and flanks with his silken surcoat; and he tossed him some grass in place of hay, scything it with his sword. Then he lay down beneath a thorn-bush, still fully armed, and soon he was fast asleep.

Suddenly a demon appeared in the semblance of a girl, the most beautiful seen in any land, and she was mounted on a black mule. She kept saying: 'When will I find my love? I've been seeking him so long!'