The Ballad of Sir Dinadan

by Gerald Morris

  "He's making this up, isn't he?" Dinadan whispered to Bedivere.

  "Nay, lad," Bedivere replied. "Some of the old minstrels think it mightily impressive to show off their memory for names. Impressive, but dull."

  King Isbaddadon appeared to agree. His scowl grew blacker at each new name. Nothing could slow Wadsworth, though. "Even more, I call upon Bolch, Kyvolch, and Syvolch, the three sons of Cleddych Kyvolch and the grandsons of Cleddyv Divolch, who had three swords named Glas, Glessig, and Gleisyad, and three dogs named Call, Cuall, and Cavall, and three horses named Hoyrddyddog, Drogddyddog, and Lloyrddyd-dog, and three wives named—"

  Wadsworth got no further. With a roar, King Isbaddadon leaped to his feet and snatched up his boar spear. Dinadan stared, unable to move or even to think except to wonder whether the king would kill Culloch or Wadsworth first, but Sir Kai was much quicker. As fast as thought, he had thrown himself across the table toward King Isbaddadon. The king hurled his spear toward Culloch, but Sir Kai—Dinadan would have laughed at this if he'd heard it in a tale, but it happened nevertheless—Sir Kai caught the spear in midflight.

  Everyone froze in astonishment, staring at the spear in Sir Kai's grasp. Even Sir Kai seemed hardly to believe it, but he reversed it in a flash and held the point an inch from Isbaddadon's nose. "It's not good manners to kill your guests," Sir Kai said.

  "Guards!" shouted the king, and at once thirty men armed with longbows appeared from what had evidently been a planned ambush.

  "And do you think your men can kill me before I split your skull?" Sir Kai asked. And then there was silence for a long moment, while Sir Kai and the king stared at each other, neither moving a muscle.

  "I have an idea," Dinadan said suddenly, trying to keep his voice calm. "It seems that our host has already heard the fine tale that our friend Wadsworth told—"

  "Actually, I hadn't even begun the—"

  "Be quiet, fool!" Bedivere hissed at Wadsworth. "Go on, Dinadan."

  "Thank you. But if I could tell a tale that was more to your liking, then perhaps you would be satisfied, your highness."

  King Isbaddadon did not move his eyes from Sir Kai, but after a second, replied, "Agreed."

  Dinadan licked his lips, took a breath, and began. Afraid that he would be too self-conscious singing the Tale of Sir Dinadan, he began the tale he had composed before leaving home, the story of Sir Tristram's battle with the evil knight Sir Marhault. Never had the telling of a tale come so hard to him. Not only did he not have his rebec, but the room was filled with tension. Dinadan's voice wavered nervously, but the spear that Sir Kai held in King Isbaddadon's face remained steady. When at last Dinadan finished, the hall was silent for a long moment, then King Isbaddadon nodded slowly.

  "It was well told," he said at last. "You may go, guards."

  Only when the last guard was gone did Sir Kai relax and move the spear point away from the king. King Is-baddadon stood. "I'll give your champion his first task in the morning," he announced and walked out of the room.

  Sir Kai and Bedivere and Dinadan looked at each other. "You might have told a shorter tale, lad," Sir Kai said gruffly, but his lips curled in what was almost a smile.

  "Good Gog, Kai," Bedivere said. "You caught that spear in flight! I've never seen the like! They should write a song about that." Bedivere glanced inquiringly at Dinadan.

  Dinadan shook his head. "Nobody would believe it."

  Bedivere nodded. "In any case, Kai, you saved his life."

  Sir Kai's smile faded as he glanced at Culloch, who had gone to sleep with his face in a sauce bowl during the story. "Don't remind me," Sir Kai said.

  Judging by the stars, it was after midnight, but Dinadan was wide awake, his stomach complaining loudly that, in all the excitement, he had not eaten enough dinner. After vainly trying several times to go back to sleep, he gave up and rose from his bed to go hunting the kitchens.

  It took a long time, feeling his way down strange hallways, but at last he found them, only to discover that someone had preceded him. Lady Brangienne was there, back to the door, hungrily devouring a chicken. Dinadan watched her a moment, then said mildly, "Don't take it all."

  Lady Brangienne jumped and whirled around. Seeing Dinadan, the fear left her face and was replaced with intense dislike. "Oh, it's you."

  Dinadan wondered at her scornful look, but he only asked, "Was there anything else where you got that chicken?" Lady Brangienne pointed to a partly open cabinet, where Dinadan saw some other cold meat. Nodding his thanks, he crossed the room and chose a half-eaten meat pie. Lady Brangienne never spoke, so at last Dinadan broke the silence. "You wouldn't be so hungry if you'd eat your dinner, you know."

  Lady Brangienne snorted. "What dinner?" she snapped. "It's the custom here for Lady Olwen's ladies-in-waiting only to eat what is left over from my lady's plate."

  "Sounds appetizing," Dinadan said.

  "Impossible, you mean. You may not have noticed, but she left nothing to speak of."

  "Yes. I did see she had a good appetite."

  Lady Brangienne snorted again. "All her other ladies make it a point to eat before dinner, but I didn't discover that until it was too late."

  Dinadan smiled. "You should have left early. But then you'd have missed the excitement."

  Lady Brangienne's eyes lit with anger. "Excitement! Slanderous lies, more like!" Dinadan blinked and stepped back involuntarily. "You and your fancy Sir Tristram! What do you know about Tristram anyway?"

  "More than you might think!" Dinadan retorted.

  "Did you see him kill Sir Marhault?"

  "No," Dinadan returned promptly. "Did you?"

  Lady Brangienne hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, I did. And it was nothing like your tale."

  Dinadan stared, his anger overcome for the moment by his curiosity. "What happened?"

  Lady Brangienne's eyes narrowed, and she glared at Dinadan. "Why do you care? You have your story already."

  "You may believe that I want to know what really happened," Dinadan said softly.

  Lady Brangienne still looked suspicious, but at length she began.

  "I used to be chief lady to Queen Iseult, daughter of good King Aguissance of Ireland. We reached womanhood together, and no two ladies could have been closer than we two. Iseult grew as beautiful as her mother had been before her, and soon all the land called her La Belle Iseult.

  "Iseult's mother was from Cornwall, the daughter of the impoverished King of Tintagel. When she and Aguissance were wed, the poor king could not even provide a dowry, and so he and Aguissance arranged for Tintagel to pay a small yearly tribute, and every year that sum was paid gladly. It was received gladly, too, because the King of Tintagel always sent the payment by the hand of his cousin, the great knight Sir Marhault."

  Lady Brangienne glared again at Dinadan, but when he did not respond, resumed her story. "Those were the best times of the year. Aguissance loved Sir Marhault as a brother, and when he arrived there was feasting and hunting and jousting and all sorts of revelry. There was no one so kind, so brave, or so courteous as Marhault—a man who could look a king in the eye as an equal but who still took time to speak to young ladies-in-waiting." Lady Brangienne hesitated, her mind far away, in a different day.

  Then she came back to the present and her voice hardened as she continued. "One year, though, Mar-hault arrived empty-handed. The old king had died, and his nephew, Mark, had assumed the throne. King Mark declared that he would no longer pay tribute and dared King Aguissance to send a champion if he cared to dispute it. Marhault was ashamed at having been sent with such a churlish message, and he asked the king if he could be Aguissance's champion himself. After some persuasion, Aguissance agreed."

  "Hang on, I'm getting confused here," Dinadan said. "Sir Marhault was related to this King Mark, wasn't he?"

  "Remotely, yes," Lady Brangienne replied.

  "But he wanted to go back and challenge King Mark on behalf of the King of Ireland?"

  "He was more at home
with us than in Cornwall, he always said. And besides, as I just said, he was offended by King Mark's boorishness."

  Dinadan nodded, and Lady Brangienne continued. "A combat was arranged between Sir Marhault and King Mark's champion, a young man named Sir Tristram. All the court traveled to Cornwall for the test, and I went with them. It was terrible, and all so stupid. The battle was supposed to be a test of skill, not a fight to the death, but Tristram never let up. We could all see that he meant to kill Marhault, and if Marhault had been a lesser knight he would have been in great danger."

  "Wasn't he killed then?" Dinadan asked in surprise.

  "Not fairly!" Lady Brangienne snapped. "After a long time, Marhault succeeded in disarming Tristram and knocking him down, but he refused to follow up his advantage and kill him while Tristram was defenseless. Instead, he turned away, thinking that the battle was over. Tristram grabbed up his sword and attacked again. Marhault died there, with Tristram's sword in his skull."

  Dinadan swallowed. He wanted to believe that Lady Brangienne was lying, but her low voice carried deep conviction. His brother Tristram had killed a good man by attacking him from behind.

  More quietly, Lady Brangienne continued. "Later we learned that King Mark had told Tristram it was a fight to the death, but it made no difference. Marhault was dead, and nothing has been right in either Ireland or Cornwall since."

  Her voice faded, and she looked at the floor for a long time. At last Dinadan said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I had heard only that Tristram won the battle, and I made up the rest. I shouldn't have."

  Lady Brangienne did not look up, but at last, she said, "At least it made for a good enough tale to save your lives tonight." A tear rolled down her cheek, and she dashed it away angrily with the back of her hand.

  Dinadan looked away from her grief. "All the same," he said. "I won't tell it again."

  IV Sir Tristram

  The sun was already high in the sky when Dinadan awoke, and he looked bemusedly around the unfamiliar room, remembering where he was. He was at the castle of King Isbaddadon, in the room he shared with Culloch, who was to be getting a task this morning in his quest to win the hand of the unappealing Olwen. Dinadan glanced at Culloch's bed, across the chamber, then sat up. Culloch was gone, along with his armor and weapons.

  Ten minutes later, Dinadan was dressed and hurrying down the hallway. Since he did not know where he might find Culloch, he made his way toward the kitchens. It was as likely a guess as any, and there at least he could find some breakfast. But first he found Lady Brangienne.

  She was just leaving the kitchens, carrying a scarf filled with baked goods. She lifted one eyebrow at Dinadan. "You're still here?" she asked abruptly. "I thought you'd gone with the others."

  "They've gone?" Dinadan blinked. He couldn't believe Bedivere would leave without telling him.

  "Of course," Lady Brangienne replied. "They've gone off to do Culloch's first task, if you can call it that."

  Her voice was rich with scorn, and Dinadan looked at her inquiringly. "What do you mean? What's the task?"

  "Don't you know?" Dinadan shook his head, and Lady Brangienne tossed her hair back out of her eyes with a sharp gesture that managed to communicate impatience and disdain at once. "The king has sent Culloch to plow his north field with two oxen. One of them has to be yellow and the other one spotted."

  Dinadan's mouth dropped open. "You're joking," he said.

  "I don't see why you're so shocked."

  "Because it's stupid, of course. What good is—?"

  "I don't see that it's more stupid than fighting another knight just to prove a point. As far as I can see, it's typical. Men! Knights! I've no patience with them." She tossed her hair back from her face again and stalked away down the hall.

  Dinadan let her go and continued to the kitchens. While he ate a slab of bread and butter and drank some ale, he pondered Lady Brangienne's information. He understood now why Bedivere had not bothered him—not only was the task silly and demeaning, but it would not take very long. That question resolved, Dinadan amused himself by imagining Sir Kai's feelings concerning this "knightly task."

  He soon saw for himself. Shortly after noon, Culloch returned, driving two oxen, one of them coated and the other spattered with yellow paint. Behind them rode a weary Bedivere and a glowering Sir Kai. King Isbaddadon happened to be in the courtyard when the small procession arrived. He guffawed loudly. "Odd's blood, boy! Where did you get that paint?"

  Dinadan was standing nearby, but he didn't wait to hear Culloch's story. He strolled back to where Bedivere and Sir Kai sat on their horses. Bedivere greeted him with a faint smile. "Hello, lad. Sorry we left you behind this morning."

  Dinadan glanced back over his shoulder at the cattle. "No need to apologize. I'd as soon not go on a fool's errand."

  Sir Kai snorted. "Any errand our Culloch is sent on will be that."

  "Maybe the second task will have more value," Bed-ivere said quietly. Sir Kai shook his head and scowled, and Dinadan could tell that even Bedivere didn't believe it.

  They were right. Culloch's second task, received that evening, was to seek out and bring back a legendary magic goblet called the "Cup of Lloyr." They received the task in the banquet room, King Isbaddadon having decreed that every successful task should be celebrated by a feast. At first, Bedivere had been interested.

  "Tell us more of this cup, your highness," he asked the king. "I have not heard of it before."

  "It is an old tale of the Waleis people, and so you should begin your search in Wales."

  Bedivere nodded and continued, "But what is the magical nature of this cup?" King Isbaddadon's brow furrowed, and Bedivere explained. "I mean does it have healing properties? Can it cure any ill? Right any wrong?"

  King Isbaddadon roared with laughter. "Ay, it can do all that!" He laughed a moment longer, then said, a strange gleam in his eyes, "It is said that any wine drunk from this cup becomes the finest vintage and is stronger than any wine on earth!"

  Bedivere closed his eyes, and Sir Kai muttered an oath, but Culloch's face lit up. "Now I call that something useful!"

  Culloch, Bedivere, Sir Kai, and Dinadan left the next morning, accompanied (to the displeasure of everyone but Culloch) by Wadsworth the minstrel. As they rode, Wadsworth hummed to himself a painfully simple melody with a short, four-stress line—Dah—de—Dah—de—Dah—de—Dah—de—over and over. Sir Kai had looked fit for murder since they set out, but when he actually moved his hand to rest on his sword hilt, Dinadan judged it was time to intervene. "Wadsworth, my friend," he said. "As you are accompanying our hero on his, ah, noble quest, it seems fitting that you should write the song of his adventures."

  Wadsworth looked at Dinadan coldly and sniffed. "Why, I'm sure I could not do it so well as your lordship," he said, his lips prim. Dinadan stifled a grin. So Wadsworth still smarted from his story's poor reception, and Dinadan's success, back at Isbaddadon's court.

  "But of course you could," Dinadan replied soothingly.

  "To be quite honest," Wadsworth said, "heroic tales are not my real strength. I am far more skilled at love songs."

  "Why then, you should write a love song for Culloch," Dinadan said promptly. "After all, these tasks of his are performed for the love of the fair Olwen, aren't they, Culloch?"

  "Eh?" Culloch replied, surprised. Dinadan innocently repeated his question, and Culloch stammered back, "Ah, yes. Why, by Jove, yes they are, aren't they?"

  Wadsworth peered closely at Dinadan. "Do you ever write love songs?"

  "I've never written a one."

  "Then I challenge you! A duel of songsters! Each of us shall compose a song on Culloch's love for Olwen, and these knights shall judge between us!"

  Dinadan felt a stir of pity for the old minstrel. Surely it must have been galling to have been shown up by a youth of Dinadan's age—who wasn't even really a minstrel. Resolving to compose a truly dreadful lyric so that Wadsworth could easily win, Dinadan agreed. Sir Kai then
spoke suddenly. "This is an excellent plan for passing our time, but to make sure that each song is original, let us separate. Wadsworth, you ride ahead with Culloch—out of earshot, mind—and Dinadan stay with us."

  It was the most pleasant part of the day. Dinadan took up his rebec and occasionally even played a few desultory notes and idly experimented with a few rhymes, but mostly he chatted with Bedivere. Even Sir Kai, away from Culloch and Wadsworth, thawed somewhat and became almost agreeable. Meanwhile, a quarter of a mile ahead on the path, they could see Wadsworth assiduously working at his lyre. Wadsworth must have taken the contest very seriously, because he worked at his song for almost four hours before at last he signaled his readiness to present the fruit of his efforts, and the two groups came together.

  "Is your lordship ready?" the minstrel said.

  "Whenever you are, friend Wadsworth," Dinadan said. "Shall I go first?"

  Dinadan had offered out of generosity, feeling that it would be an advantage to go last, but Wadsworth's eyes narrowed with suspicion, and the minstrel launched into a long explanation of why it would be best for Dinadan to go last. Bored by Wadsworth's explanations, Dinadan agreed.

  "My lords and ladies," Wadsworth began, assuming a formal tone.

  "Ladies?" growled Sir Kai.

  "I sing for you a melody of great love, the love of the noble Sir Culloch for his absent lady, the fair Olwen, for whom his soul longs, in whose memory his very breath moistens the air, and for whom his eyes stream tears." Here the minstrel paused, as if holding back tears himself.

  "Off to a good start, eh?" Culloch asked cheerfully. "The next part's even better. I like the bit when he says—"