"More than a week," the monk said. "Almost as long as I have." Dinadan looked a question, and the monk explained. "My name is Brother Eliot, from St. Anselm's Abbey up the road. This little anchorage is a part of the abbey. We monks get sent here sometimes to pray and fast and meditate and so on when we need ... need to be reminded of the seriousness of our calling. I got two weeks this time."
Dinadan chuckled. "Got a bit frivolous, did you?"
"It's not that," Brother Eliot said. "It's just that Father Abbot is a very ... a very properly mournful father, and he dislikes it when the brothers appear to be enjoying their tasks too much."
"And what is your task?"
"I'm one of the junior cantors—a musician."
Dinadan's smile broadened. "Are you really?" he said, patting his rebec where it hung from his saddle. "We shall have to sing together. But first, I need to talk to your guest."
Brother Eliot's face lit up, and he said, "He was asleep just a moment ago. Is that a rebec?" Dinadan nodded, and the monk said, "I have only seen one, but it made such a sweet sound, I have never forgotten it." He looked eagerly at Dinadan, who needed no further prompting. He took the instrument down, tuned it quickly, then played a wistful melody he had been working on during his rides alone. Brother Eliot closed his eyes and shivered with bliss. When Dinadan was done, there were tears in the monk's eyes, and he took several long breaths before he spoke. "I wish ... I wish..."
"What do you wish?"
Brother Eliot looked down guiltily. "It is nothing. I am a very young brother, and there are many things that I do not understand, but I ... I do not see why we have no such instruments in the choir. Surely such beauty would be best used in praise of God. How much better it would be to play such music to a sacred song than it is to play it with tales of bloodshed and wrath!"
Dinadan pursed his lips. "You mean, like in stories of knights?" Brother Eliot nodded, and Dinadan said mildly, "But I like stories of knights."
Brother Eliot looked guilty again. "Yes, there is a certain ... pleasure.... But think of what good could be done! Why, imagine if the minstrels who sang of Sir Gawain should turn their talents in praise of the noble defenders of the church in the Holy Lands!"
"Who?" Dinadan asked.
"The Crusaders! They who fight and die to recover the Holy City Jerusalem from the infidel in faraway lands!"
"Why?" Dinadan asked. Brother Eliot looked confused, and Dinadan added, "I mean, why do they want Jerusalem?"
"It's ... it's the Holy City. Where Our Lord walked. We good Christians must defend it, of course."
"Oh," Dinadan said, his mind suddenly focused on an idea for a verse. Brother Eliot started to speak, but Dinadan shushed him. "Hang on a minute, I think I have a song for you." He fingered the strings for a moment, words dancing in his head, and then he straightened. "Right, then. A song for the Crusaders. Ready?"
Brother Eliot nodded eagerly, and Dinadan ran the bow over the rebec's strings and sang:
"What must the infidel have thought,
Beholding those corsairs?
How bravely the Crusaders fought
For lands that were not theirs.
"How utterly, completely mad
To fly to the defense
Of cities they had never had
And haven't wanted since."
Brother Eliot was quiet for a moment, then said softly, "Perhaps the Crusades are not the best subject after all, friend ... I'm sorry, I don't even know your name."
"Dinadan. And I'm sorry to make light of your idea. It was ill done of me, but once the idea had started, I could hardly stop. I'm afraid that I, at least, could never write convincingly about the Crusades."
"Never mind," Brother Eliot said. "Will you stay with me tonight and share my meal? It is nothing but thin soup and water, a penitent's meal, but all I have is yours." He smiled, but the smile faded slightly. "Except, of course, what Sir Tristram eats."
Dinadan grinned. "Let Sir Tristram have the soup. I have some food in my pack left from my noontime meal at an inn down the road. There's some roast chicken and two good loaves of bread. It may not be a penitent's meal, but it's a meal you can give thanks for."
Brother Eliot hesitated, but not for long. He nodded agreement, and Dinadan took out his feast, more than enough for both to eat well. Brother Eliot stared.
"I really shouldn't," he said. "When we come out to the anchorage, we're supposed to put aside all venial pleasures." He sighed. "That's always been the hardest part for me. Not obedience, not poverty, not chastity—but I do like good food and music, and I've never been able to see them as entirely corrupt. But I must trust Father Abbot, I suppose." He sighed and then, clearly putting Father Abbot out of his mind, laid into the chicken.
When their meal was over, Brother Eliot lay on his back and chewed on a piece of grass. "Are you a minstrel?" he asked suddenly.
"Sometimes," Dinadan replied.
"Do you sing short songs mostly, or do you write knightly tales?"
"Mostly tales," Dinadan said.
Brother Eliot ruminated for a minute, then cast a sidelong glance at Dinadan. "You know, I've had an idea for a knightly tale."
This was said so guiltily that Dinadan was hard put not to laugh. "And you a monk!" he said with mock horror.
"Oh, this would be a religious tale," Brother Eliot assured him, adding hastily, "and it's not about the Crusades, either, so don't give me that look. It's a story about a knight fighting great battles, but it would really be about faith."
Dinadan had a feeling he would regret asking, but he said, "How would that be?"
"It would be an allegory!" Brother Eliot continued eagerly. "Everything in the tale would really stand for something else! The hero would be a true Christian. I'd call him the Knight of the Cross—no, that's been used, hasn't it?—the Red Cross Knight. There, that's good. And the Red Cross Knight would fight against all sorts of sins and temptations."
"So he'd fight against a dragon named Gluttony, or something like that?" Dinadan asked.
"Well, yes, that's the idea, but I don't think the names should be that obvious. We'd have to call the dragon something else."
"We could call him Culloch," Dinadan said, musing.
"No, no. Let me explain. The hearer should be able to figure it out, but not easily. How about Grand-mangeur—from the French for 'big eater.' You see?"
"No," Dinadan said bluntly. "If you want people to understand the hidden meaning, then why hide it in the first place?"
"It's hard to explain, but that's just how it's done," Brother Eliot explained patiently. "I'd have the Red Cross Knight fighting for the deliverance of a beautiful woman who would be the one true faith. I'd call her Singulette. For 'One,' you know."
Dinadan made a face. "Ugh. Sounds like an undergarment. Can't you just call her One Faith?"
Brother Eliot shook his head impatiently. "You really need to read some of the writings of the Church Fathers. You've no notion how allegory works. You can't call her what you want her to represent. You call her something that will make your reader think of the word you want her to represent. I'll call her Una."
Dinadan started to speak, then closed his mouth and frowned in puzzlement.
"Look, it's simple," Brother Eliot said. "Suppose I want to have a knight who represents Foolishness. Well, I can't call him Fool."
"Yes, I see that. He'd hate it."
"No, no, I mean that would be too obvious. What we want is a name that will imply Fool."
"How about 'Tristram'?"
"Hush. Now we might disguise the word, maybe by turning it backwards."
"Loof? Sir Loof? 'The Ballad of Sir Loof'?"
Brother Eliot suppressed a grin, but shook his head. "Not the right feel. So we might use a word that means foolishness in another language. Do you know how to say 'fool' in French?"
"No."
Brother Eliot sighed. "Me neither. Well, there's always Latin—that's stultus. " He smiled, sheepishly. "At least that's
what the Latin master always calls me. So he could be Sir Stultus." He frowned and fell into a reverie. "Or, if that's too obvious, we could turn that one about—Sir Stultus. Or what about Greek?"
Dinadan interrupted good-humoredly. "I really don't think I have the knack of saying things by pretending to say something else. I just like to tell stories. You'll have to find someone else to write your allegory, and give him my best when you do. Do you think Tristram's awake?"
"You can look."
Dinadan stepped into the rough doorway, paused to let his eyes grow accustomed to the gloom, then spied a large bundle on the one bed. "Sir Tristram?"
Tristram rolled over and looked at Dinadan. There was no recognition in his eyes. "How did you know my name? For I speak it to no one."
"I met you up the road a few weeks ago. My name is Dinadan."
"I know no one of that name."
"Yes, I remember that. Well, we were only together for a short time, and then you got preoccupied fighting some knight named Lickamat or something."
Tristram sat up with energy. "Sir Lamorak! He is a villain! I should have killed him!"
"Didn't you?"
"No, his lady appeared and ordered him to stop. Then she cast some sort of spell, and then next I knew I was alone."
"Some other time, perhaps. Listen, Sir Tristram, I was wondering if you could answer a few questions. For instance, how did you ever come to love the Lady Iseult?"
Tristram raised his chin in the air and looked forlorn. "Of that I may not speak. I've taken a vow—"
"Yes, yes, I know all about that. It's just that it seems so odd. After all, didn't you kill her father's friend and champion, Sir Marhault? So how come she doesn't consider you a worm and spit at the ground where you walk?"
"Iseult could never so demean herself. Who can say where Eros will send his feathered shaft deep into the bosom of another helpless soul? More than this I cannot say."
Dinadan didn't believe this, but he saw that pressing Tristram more now would only make him more mulish, and so he changed tactics. "I quite understand, and I can't tell you how inspiring your vow is. That's why I'm here. I thought maybe you should have a traveling companion who would speak for you when necessary. That way you would never be tempted to break your vow. I'd be happy to ride with you."
Tristram hesitated, but after declaring his vow so firmly, he could hardly say no, and he agreed. For the next hour, Tristram strolled about and talked to Brother Eliot, while Dinadan packed up his brother's things and saddled his horse. At last they were ready, and Tristram made a lengthy farewell speech to the monk, who endured it with great patience. Then Tristram lifted his head high and turned to Dinadan, "Very well, let us be off. I shall continue my silent path of sorrow."
"Of course you will," Dinadan said soberly. Brother Eliot made a faint choking sound.
"But see to it that you tell no one my name," Tristram added.
"If anyone asks, I'll tell them you are Sir Stultus," Dinadan replied. Brother Eliot choked again and turned his face, but he was able to raise a hand in reply to Dinadan's parting wave.
Dinadan waited almost an hour before he tried again to get information from Tristram. It was harder than he had expected. It wasn't at all difficult to get Tristram to talk; it was just that any question that mentioned Iseult reminded him of his vow and made him hold his tongue for a few minutes. During one of these lulls, Dinadan took out his rebec and began to play.
"That's a rebec!" Tristram announced. Dinadan didn't reply, having nothing to add to Tristram's information. Tristram continued, though. "I used to play the rebec some, when I was small, but now I play the lyre."
His interest stirred, Dinadan stopped playing. "Do you?"
"Oh yes, I find it very useful in wooing ladies. You just tell them that you've written a song for them, and they fall all over you."
"Really?" Dinadan replied, cautiously. "Tell me how that works."
"It's very simple, really. That was how I wooed Iseult."
"I see," Dinadan said, carefully. "And it worked?"
"Until she got married," Tristram said mournfully.
"Married?"
"Yes, and King Mark watches his wife like a hawk."
"What?" Dinadan exclaimed, in consternation. "Iseult is married to King Mark?"
"Didn't you know?"
"But how could that be? Isn't King Mark her father's worst enemy? Are you sure?"
But he had gone too far. Tristram raised his chin in a noble pose. "My lips are sealed," he said grandly.
And sealed they stayed, at least on the subject of Iseult and King Mark. After two more frustrating hours, they arrived at a small inn, built at a crossroads in the forest. Dinadan was pleased to see it, since he generally had a good relationship with innkeepers, but the keeper of this inn did not seem at all pleased. As soon as they rode into sight, the innkeeper rushed out of the front door waving his arms frantically at them. "Oh no, oh no. Not two more! Go away, I tell you! We're tired of knights, and the stories are all lies anyway! Go away!"
Dinadan stared in consternation, but Tristram replied sharply, "I turn aside my path for no man, let alone for a villein such as thee."
The innkeeper's face sagged wearily. "But I tell you it's all lies. I never made such a rule, and I never will. Why would I do such a thing anyway?"
"What are you talking about, friend?" Dinadan asked gently. "What rule? We mean you no harm."
"The rule about fighting a joust before.... Do you mean you haven't heard about—?"
"Is this indeed the Inn of Challenge?" Tristram asked eagerly. "I had heard of it, but did not know it was here!"
"No, I tell you! It's all a lie. This is the Green Dragon Inn. All that stuff about—"
"Then this is the inn where no knight is permitted to lodge save he joust first! A noble place."
Dinadan looked sympathetically at the innkeeper. "Is that what people say about your inn?" The keeper nodded glumly. "Sounds like it would be bad for business. Why don't we just ride on?"
The innkeeper's eyes brightened, but Tristram would have none of it. "Fie for shame! Bring out your knight, and we shall assay him by dint of weapons."
"Dent of brain, you mean," Dinadan muttered. "Look here, ah, Sir Stultus, maybe this fellow doesn't have a knight handy. Surely we aren't expected to wait around until one happens along."
The innkeeper looked more weary than ever. "Why not? That's what those other chaps are doing." And then, as if on cue, two knights strolled out of the inn and caught sight of Tristram and Dinadan. The larger of the two, who was the only one in armor, let out a cry of triumph and ran to his horse.
"Come, friend!" Tristram shouted. "Let us have ado with those two knights!"
"No, thank you," Dinadan said. He turned to the innkeeper. "Sorry about this. I didn't know."
"Not your fault," the man replied. "I'll get a spade to bury the loser with the others."
Dinadan walked his horse up to the inn, where the second knight still stood, watching. He was a tall, angular man with sandy hair and a serious face, but he smiled pleasantly at Dinadan. "Not joining your companion in the challenge?" the strange knight asked.
"I was just going to ask you the same thing," Dinadan replied. "But since you ask: no."
They stood together at the door of the inn and watched while Tristram and the large knight made their preparations for combat. "This knight in the pretty gold armor, is he a friend of yours?" the strange knight ventured.
"Not really. Just riding together."
"Ah, that's the same with me and Sir Lamorak, there."
Dinadan looked up sharply. "Sir Lamorak! For heaven's sake, don't say that name to my companion! He's sworn to kill Lamorak."
"Why? What's your companion's name?"
"Sir ... Sir Stultus."
The stranger's serious face softened. "Ah. A Latin fellow, I gather."
"You speak Latin?"
"I know what stultus means, anyway."
Dinadan suppresse
d a smile. "Well, it's more of a description than a name, really. He's keeping his real name secret."
"Ah, it's Tristram, then. I'd heard he was about." The knight grinned at Dinadan. "My name's Gaheris, of King Arthur's table."
Dinadan smiled in reply. "My name's Dinadan, and I'm from Arthur's table, too, even though I've only been there once. You must have been away then."
Gaheris smiled broadly. "I was, but I've heard of you. You went off with Kai and Bedivere and that young fellow who wants to be a knight, didn't you?" Dinadan nodded. "How's that business going?" Gaheris asked. Dinadan rolled his eyes and told Gaheris about King Isbaddadon's tasks. Gaheris shook his head sadly. "I imagine Kai's about to kill someone," he commented. "So what's your knight—What's his name? Culloch?—doing now?"
"He's supposed to be finding some magic picnic basket or other."
"The Magic Picnic Basket of Guidno?" Gaheris asked.
"You've heard of it?" Dinadan asked, astonished.
"Ay. Guidno's shop is just over the hill in the next town. He's a caner—chairs, baskets, and the like. Poor fellow thought it would be good business to spread a story about how his baskets were so big that they'd never be empty, and the tale got out of hand. His shop's been broken into about once a week since the story began by people wanting the eternal picnic."
"So it's all a lie?"
"An exaggeration. But either way, it's come back to haunt the teller."
Dinadan took a breath, his mind racing. "So ... so he wouldn't mind if the story got told around how the great Culloch captured his magic basket and took it to King Isbad? I mean, people would leave him alone then, wouldn't they?"
Gaheris's eyes lit up with inner laughter. "You've a good head on you, Dinadan. I'll help you. Let's go talk to Guidno."
Dinadan jerked his head at Tristram and Lamorak, who had managed to unhorse each other and were sparring heavily with their broadswords. "What about them? Hate to leave them to kill each other."
"We could toss some water on them."
"They'll just rust. Here, let me try this." Dinadan strolled over to the combat. "Sir knights! You do yourselves great dishonor! For how shall you win the Tournament of Women if you slay each other here?"
The Ballad of Sir Dinadan Page 7
