And now he meets a heathen knight, approaching with a splendid following. They rode a great joust; and the heathen wondered to find a knight abide his lance. They fought with swords together, till their horses were blown; they sprang on the ground, and there fought on. Then the heathen thought of his queen; the love-thought brought him strength, and he struck Parzival a blow that brought him to his knee. Now rouse thee, Parzival; why dost thou not think on thy wife? Suddenly he thought of her, and how he won her love, vanquishing Clamide before Pelrapeire. Straight her aid came to him across four kingdoms, and he struck the heathen down; but his sword—once Ither's—broke.
The foolish evil deed of Parzival in slaying Ither seems atoned for in the breaking of this sword. Had it not broken, great evil had been done. The great-hearted heathen sprang up. "Hero, you would have conquered had that sword not broken. Be peace between us while we rest." They sat together on the grass. "Tell me your name," said the heathen; "I have never met as great a knight."
"Is it through fear, that I should tell my name?"
"Nay, I will name myself—Feirefiz of Anjou."
"How of Anjou? that is my heritage. Yet I have heard I had a brother. Let me see your face. I will not attack you with your helmet off."
"Attack me? it is I that hold the sword; but let neither have the vantage." He threw his sword far from them. With joy and tears the brothers recognized each other; and long and loving was their speech. Then they rode back together to the Court. They entered Gawain's tent. Arthur came to greet them, and with him many knights. At Arthur's request each of the great brothers told the long list of his knightly victories. The next day Feirefiz was made a knight of the Round Table, and a grand tournament was held. Then the feast followed ; and again, as once before, to the great company seated at the table, Cundrie came riding. She greeted the king; then turned to Parzival, and in tears threw herself at his feet and begged a greeting and forgiveness. Parzival forgives her. She rises up and cries: "Hail to thee, son of Gahmuret—Herzeloide's child. Humble thyself in gladness. The high lot is thine, thou
