ranged on the couches; and tables were placed before them all. A hundred squires came and reverently took from the Grail all manner of food and wine, which they set before the knights, whatever each might wish. Everything came from the power of the Grail.
Parzival wondered, but kept silence, thinking of the old prince's counsel not to ask many questions, and hoping to be told what all this might be. A squire brought a sword to the host, who gave it to the guest: "I bore this sword in all need, until God wounded me. Take it as amends for our sad hospitality. Rely on it in battle."
The gift of the sword was Parzival's opportunity to ask his host what had stricken him. He let it pass. The feast was solemnly removed. "Your bed is ready, whenever you will rest," said the host; and Parzival was shown to a bedchamber, where he was left alone. But the knight did not sleep uncompanioned. Coming sorrow sent her messengers. Dreams overhung him, as a tapestry, woven of sword-strokes and deadly thrusts of lance. He was fighting dark, endless, battles for his life, till sweating in every limb he woke. Day shone through the window. "Where are the knaves to fetch my clothes?" He heard no sound. He sprang up. His armour lay there, and the two swords—the one which he took from Ither and the one given him by his host. Thought he: "I have suffered such pain in my sleep, there must be hard work for me to-day. Is mine host in need, I will gladly aid him and her too, Repanse, who gave me this mantle; yet I would not serve her for her love; my own wife is as beautiful."
Parzival passed through the castle's empty halls, calling aloud in anger. He saw no one, heard no sound. In the courtyard he found his horse, and flung himself into the saddle. He rode through the open castle-gate, over the draw-bridge, which an unseen hand drew up before his horse's hoofs had fairly cleared it. He looked behind him in surprise. A squire cursed him: "May the sun scorch you! Had you just used your mouth to ask a question of your host! You missed it, goose!" Parzival called for explanation, but the gates were swung to in his face. His joy was gone, his pain begun. By chance throw of the dice
