The Legend of Parzival by Robin Cook

Author:Robin Cook [Robin Cook]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781782505037
Publisher: Floris Books
Published: 2018-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Like his friend Gawain, Parzival had many challenges and difficulties to surmount. He met one trial after another and there seemed to be no end to his adventures. He travelled far and wide, over sea and mountain, and never failed to meet an encounter with bravery and courage. Yet sometimes he was assailed by doubt and wondered whether it was all worthwhile. While he had originally set out to find his mother, it now seemed as though his steadfastness to Condwiramur was being tested too. He told himself he was doing it for his beautiful wife and that he must prove himself to be steadfast in his love for her. But that was not the whole story. His failure at Montsalvaesche was seared into his soul. The humiliation at King Arthur’s court burned within him. Yet, despite all the confusion he felt, at night, when he looked up at a crescent moon, forming, so it seemed to him, a chalice, he knew he could not give up the quest that he had set himself: he must find the Grail again.

He comforted himself that he had made some progress. As Sigune foretold, the sword that Anfortas had given him had indeed shattered on its second blow. Yet all was not lost – a providential meeting with Cunneware had revealed to him the words of the spell needed to make the sword whole again. Parzival, after many trials, had been able to reforge the blade in the spring named Lac, and this moment of grace inspired him to think that he would find Montsalvaesche once again.

Though it was a struggle for him to keep his doubt and disillusion at bay, often something occurred that raised his spirits. And so it was that one day, as he made his way disconsolately through a dense forest, he came across a humble dwelling next to a little stream. Just behind it was a simple grave with a rough headstone. Intrigued, Parzival stopped, dismounted and called out, “Is anyone there?”

“Yes,” answered a woman’s voice from within the little house, so Parzival approached, leaving his horse to crop the grass. The window was covered by a piece of sacking, and as he approached the lady drew it to one side. He quickly took in her pallid face and the emptiness of the little room behind: there was only a table and chair, a crucifix on the wall and a straw pallet. She gestured to him to sit on the bench in front of the window.

“Thank you,” he said gravely.

“This is the first time a man has visited me here,” she said, and Parzival immediately wondered how she had come to be there at all.

“How do you manage to live here?” he enquired. “This is very far away from any help, and there is no sign of cultivation.”

“My food is brought each week by Cundrie la Sorciere. I am alone with my sorrow.”

Parzival considered this strange answer and then noticed that although she was dressed like a nun she wore a garnet ring.

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