When that battle on the flower-bright plain was over, King Gramoflanz arrived, intent on avenging the loss of his garland. He heard a full account of what had happened there––a combat so fierce that no harder sword-fight had ever been seen. Those who granted each other that battle had done so without any cause at all. Gramoflanz rode out of his host, over to the battle-weary knights. He heartily lamented their hardship.

Gawan had leapt to his feet. His limbs were spent. Here those two stood. Now Lady Bene had also ridden with the king into the rink  where the battle had been endured. She saw Gawan devoid of strength––he whom above all the world she had chosen as her joy’s highest crown. With heart’s sorrow’s sound, she leapt shrieking from her horse––she flung her arms about him. She said: ‘Cursed among all men be the hand which has acquainted your radiant person with this hardship! Truly, your complexion was a mirror of manliness.’ She sat him down upon the grass. Of her weeping little was omitted. Then the gentle maiden wiped the blood and sweat away from his eyes. He was hot in his armour.

King Gramoflanz then said: ‘Gawan, I’m sorry for your hardship, as it wasn’t my hand that inflicted it. If you’ll come to the plain again tomorrow, to meet me in battle, I will gladly await you. I would rather attack a woman now, than you in this exhausted state. What fame might I win by you, unless I heard you reported to be in better strength? Now rest tonight. You will have need of it, if you desire to stand in for King Lot.’

Sturdy Parzival, for his part, had not a single weary limb, nor any mark of pallor.

Parzival