I’ll tell you no more about them just yet; now you’re going to hear about the bold knight who had been searching through many kingdoms for the court which housed the bleeding lance. He suffered so much pain and toil, without ever finding it, that it would be hard to recount the places where Perceval went and the wonders he encountered. But I’ll tell you this much: one Tuesday he left the hermit to whom he had confessed the sins he had committed, and journeyed through many lands and encountered many trials and adventures which are not recorded. But one Saturday morning he was riding along a road at the edge of a forest – a beautiful forest, most pleasing to him – and came upon a wasteland. He had to ride right across this wilderness for two days without food or drink until, on the third day, he found himself in a plain, and journeyed on until the third hour.

Then he looked around, lost and confused, and there in the plain to his left he saw a strong and handsome castle; he could see no building, house or hut, outside the surrounding wall. The walls, as he saw, were so strong and high that no assault could do them harm, though there was no ditch around them. Above the gateway was a tower, very strong, very rich and very handsome: no man has ever seen one so fair. And that was the only tower or turret. The gate was entirely of ebony, a wood which will never be burned by fire and will never rot. Perceval, as soon as he saw it, said to himself that the castle stood in a very poor place. He rode around it until he came before the gate, but found it closed. He gazed at it for a long while, for never in his life had he seen a gate of such beauty. Only the finest of craftsmen could have made it: the nails were of gold, as were the rich and handsome hinges; and fixed to the gate was a ring of pure gold, from which hung a splendid horn of ivory, whiter than snow, by a long strap of gold-embroidered cloth. It was magnificently adorned.