Free Parsifal's Page by Gerald Morris Page B

jester. The man stuck his tongue out and made the rude gesture called a "fig" at Parsifal, but then he turned on his heel and led the way out the door. Piers and Parsifal followed, and in a few minutes were led into a grand banquet hall filled with people in gorgeous raiment.
    "I've brought them in, Nuncle," the man shouted. "For all the bleeding good they'll be. 'Twill all be for nought, I fear me."
    Piers followed the man's eyes and saw at the head of a long table, propped up by pillows on a dais, the fisherman who had directed them to the castle. The fisherman wore a gold circlet on his forehead, a crown. With a slight wave, the fisherman king beckoned to Parsifal and waved him into a seat beside the dais. Parsifal took his seat, and Piers assumed his position behind Parsifal's chair.
    "I am glad that you've come," the fisherman king said. His voice was grainy and weak. Ladies and courtiers who were gathered all around looked at
him anxiously. One lady, who had an air of authority, waved an arm toward the great open door at the other end of the hall, and then began the strangest procession Piers had ever seen.
    First, through the door walked a page, about Piers's age, carrying a long lance. As they drew close, Piers saw with horror that the point of the lance was streaming with blood, as if the blood were welling out of the lance itself. The fisherman king closed his eyes and looked away, then nodded. The page gently pointed the lance at the fisherman king's upper thigh. Looking hard, Piers thought he could see blood on the fisherman king's clothing there. Then, with a firm thrust, the page pushed the point of the lance into the king's leg. Fresh blood welled up from a wound, the king grimaced with pain, and Parsifal started to rise from his chair in alarm, but then the king relaxed. The page withdrew, and the king seemed to breathe more easily.
    Before Piers had time to wonder about what he had just witnessed, two young girls came whirling wildly into the room. They seemed to be dressed entirely in flowers, and flower petals flew from their fingertips as they danced. A sweet perfume filled the hall. The girls left a shower of petals on the fisherman king and then disappeared behind him. Following on their heels, but walking much more sedately, came four
regal ladies in matching white robes, each carrying a lit candelabrum.
    Parsifal, who had reluctantly settled himself back in his chair leaned toward Piers. Piers inclined his head. "Do you think they'll explain all this later?" Parsifal whispered.
    "I don't know," Piers replied. He was urgently curious himself. He wanted desperately to ask for an explanation.
    Parsifal took a deep breath, then whispered, "If they don't tell us tonight, then tomorrow I will have to ask." Piers nodded vigorously. It was a good compromise, he decided, between good manners and good sense.
    The ladies with the candelabra stood on the dais with the fisherman king, and two more ladies appeared, these in gowns that shone like silver, and they each bore a long, glittering knife. Piers could not look away from the two knives. At a glance he knew that they were perfectly balanced and from the glint on the edge he decided that they were sharp enough to slice a man's finger to the bone before he'd even felt the cut. They shone more brightly than any steel he'd ever seen at his father's forge, and he realized with a start that these knives must be made of silver. The hafts of the knives, or at least the part that showed beneath the ladies' hands, were curiously wrought with delicate metalwork that Piers longed to examine more
closely. Had Parsifal not decided to ask for explanations in the morning, Piers would have been unable to restrain his need to know more about these brilliant blades.
    Finally, one last lady entered, bearing something on an earthen tray. Piers stared, but he could not tell exactly what it was: the woman carried it on a tray as if it were a vessel of some sort, but it seemed to