The Ballad of Sir Dinadan

by Gerald Morris

  The two knights lowered their swords, gasping. "What tournament is that?" Tristram asked.

  "Have you not heard? The Tournament of Women begins at this same hour two days hence in ... in York. If you are to win the prize there, you must leave at once!"

  It worked. The knights separated, swearing that they should meet again in the tournament, at which time they would surely teach each other a lesson, and within ten minutes they were gone, taking separate paths. Gaheris watched them go, then turned to Dinadan. "A very great pleasure it is meeting you, Sir Dinadan. A knight after my own heart you are."

  Dinadan was pleased, but then his face clouded. "A knight who hates to fight and who tells lies? Are you sure?"

  Gaheris's face grew serious. "Would you rather be like them? Two mighty warriors racing each other to an imaginary tournament to win a prize that only exists in their own minds?" He shrugged. "Let's go talk to Guidno."

  A week later, having regretfully said goodbye to Gaheris and having even more regretfully rejoined Culloch and the others, Dinadan rode back into King Isbaddadon's castle to deliver the basket that Guidno had willingly given him. In return, Dinadan had wasted no opportunity in the last week to tell a fanciful tale he had concocted about how Culloch had fought a great ogre for the hamper.

  As it turned out, Dinadan's tale arrived at King Is-baddadon's castle before Culloch and his company did, and the king welcomed them back with open arms, proclaiming that they would feast together that very night. He barely gave the basket a glance, which was just as well, as a more ordinary basket would be hard to produce, but he embraced Culloch like a long-lost son. He had evidently forgotten his initial dislike of his daughter's suitor.

  The feast proceeded along the same lines as his earlier feasts, with more food and drink than even Culloch could polish off, but Dinadan ate little. He had to be awake at midnight to visit the kitchens. Twice during the feast, Dinadan was able to catch the eye of Lady Brangienne, who was standing at her usual place behind Lady Olwen. Neither gave any signal, but Dinadan was confident that Brangienne would meet him later.

  He was not disappointed. Just after midnight, as Dinadan was finishing an excellent plum pudding, she appeared. "I hope you've left something for me," she commented, eyeing the empty platter.

  "Some roast boar in the larder," Dinadan said. "How have things been here?"

  Brangienne made a face as she filled a plate. "Need you ask? Olwen grows daily more repulsive. All she talks about these days is her gallant lover."

  "Culloch?" Dinadan asked. Brangienne nodded and Dinadan rolled his eyes. "That is repulsive. She doesn't really think he does all this business out of love for her, does she?"

  "She might; she's stupid enough. But even if she knows he's just playing a silly game with her father, she can't very well say so. Think how it would make her look." Brangienne rolled her eyes and tossed her hair out of her face. "Love!" she said, with loathing.

  Dinadan seized the opportunity. "Doesn't make sense, does it? For instance, why would Iseult fall in love with Tristram, who killed her father's best friend? For that matter, why would she marry King Mark, the one who sent Tristram to do the deed?"

  Brangienne's eyes grew wary, and she chewed in silence for a long moment. At last she said, "You've been busy, haven't you?"

  "Only my ears," Dinadan said quietly. "My tongue has been still. I've told no one where you are."

  Brangienne was silent for another minute. Then she looked seriously into Dinadan's eyes. "It's the price of my life if the story gets out. I should tell no one." Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you care?"

  Dinadan shrugged. "I don't know," he replied truthfully. "Maybe I could help."

  Brangienne frowned again, then took a breath. "Unlikely. But for what it's worth, I suppose I trust you to keep silent, and it would be a relief to tell someone. Make yourself comfortable." Then she began. "I've told you how King Mark challenged King Aguissance and how their two champions, Tristram and Marhault, fought and how Tristram killed Marhault." Dinadan nodded, and Brangienne said, "Well, something else happened at that tournament: King Mark saw Iseult. I've told you how beautiful she is. Mark must have made up his mind right away that he had to have her for his wife."

  "After defying her father and killing his friend? Rather a tall order."

  "You would think. But about six months later, a strange minstrel arrived at our gate, a beautiful man with broad shoulders."

  "A minstrel, hey?" Dinadan asked, interested. "Any good?"

  Brangienne almost smiled. "Not as good as you are, if that's what you're wondering. Only played the lyre, which can get very tiresome. His name, he said, was Tramtris."

  Dinadan closed his eyes and nodded with comprehension. "Tramtris," he repeated. "That was the best he could come up with. Didn't you recognize Tristram?"

  "We'd never seen him except in full armor. He came, he said, as an emissary from a great and distant king who had heard of Iseult's beauty and wished to marry her."

  "King Mark, of course," Dinadan said. "But he wouldn't tell you the king's name, I'll wager."

  "He said the king had taken some sort of vow." Dinadan sighed and nodded again. Brangienne continued. "King Aguissance said no, at first, but Tramtris came with a great retinue and handed out so much gold that Iseult was fascinated by her mystery suitor. In the end, she convinced her father to let her go." Brangienne took a breath. "And as her chief lady-in-waiting, I went, too. Before the king sent us away, though, he called me aside and gave me something."

  Brangienne grew silent, staring moodily into a cold fireplace. Dinadan waited as long as he could, then asked, "What was it?"

  "A love potion, bought at great price from a sorceress. You see, Aguissance was afraid that Iseult would be disappointed with the mysterious king, and he wanted her to be happy. So he bought this potion. I was to pour it in her drink on her wedding night. It would make her fall forever in love with the first person her eyes saw after she drank it."

  "Scary stuff," Dinadan commented. "Did it work?"

  Brangienne shook her head. "Not the way it was supposed to. On the ship to Cornwall, I left the flask in my cabin one day. When I came back, I found Iseult and Tristram in my room, drinking from the flask and looking into each other's eyes."

  "I see," Dinadan said. "But ... but what were they doing in your room going through your things?"

  "Does it matter?" Brangienne asked. "The damage was done. They were in love, and I suppose will be until they both die. It was my fault."

  Dinadan frowned. It didn't seem to him that Brangienne had done anything wrong, but he wasn't going to argue. "Must have been quite a scene when you got to Tintagel," he said. "Iseult finding out that her mystery betrothed was King Mark, and King Mark finding out that his future queen was in love with Tristram."

  Brangienne shuddered. "I don't want to think about that day. But, one thing: Mark never found out about the potion. Iseult and Tristram are the only ones who know."

  "Except for you ... oh!" Understanding came in a flash. "That's why you ran away. You're a threat."

  Brangienne looked speculatively at Dinadan. "I have to admit that you have more wit than the average man. You're right. One night, just after the wedding, I overheard them talking, and I distinctly heard Iseult tell Tristram that I was dangerous. I left the court that hour. They found me, though."

  "The guards in the forest," Dinadan said. "And you think that they're still looking for you? To conceal their secret?"

  "You have to know King Mark. He's a madman. If he finds out, he'll kill Iseult. As long as I'm alive, I'm dangerous to her."

  "What a tale," Dinadan said, musing.

  "A tale you'll never tell!" Brangienne said fiercely.

  "I didn't say it was a good tale," Dinadan said. "A good tragedy should be about grand emotions and great deeds that go awry, not about two fools drinking from the wrong flask. No, I won't be tempted to tell this one at all." He looked up at Brangienne. "But you may be sure that if I can ever hel
p, I will."

  Brangienne nodded, then turned and left without speaking. She did not look to Dinadan to be very reassured.

  VI The Shadow of the Woods

  "Gather up, now, Culloch lad! Hear your next trial!" King Isbaddadon bellowed. He was standing before the assembled knights in his courtyard, shortly after dawn, and his face showed a mixture of triumph and discomfort. The discomfort probably came from a headache, Dinadan reflected: anyone who had caroused as late as the king had the preceding evening would feel out of sorts at this hour. But the look of triumph came from what he had to say. The king shouted again. "This task will be harder than all the others.

  "You might think it so, but for me it will be easy," answered Culloch. The bravado of his reply was spoiled by a faint moan at the end. He had caroused as hard as the king.

  Bedivere leaned forward to hear the task, perhaps hoping for a worthy task, but Dinadan only sighed resignedly. He saw nothing in King Isbaddadon's leering grin to inspire hope.

  "Your next task," the king announced importantly, "is to bring to the Lady Olwen a comb made from the bristles of the great boar Torch Troyth, who lives in the woods near Caernarvon!"

  Bedivere winced. "My lord, this is ridiculous. These are not tasks but market errands. I beg you—"

  "I am not finished!" the king roared. "This boar must be hunted with the famous Hound of Druddwyn, and the hound must be held with a leash woven from the great beard of Dillus the Bearded."

  "The man's daft," Sir Kai grumbled.

  "And finally," Isbaddadon said, "the hunt must be led by Mabon, son of Modron, who was stolen away from his parents when he was barely three days old!"

  "What?" asked Bedivere.

  "Eh?" Sir Kai said.

  The king crowed delightedly. "That's right! Modron is a merchant, and his oldest son was stolen from his cradle fifteen years ago, and he has never been seen again! Do you still think that you will find the task easy, my boy?" He uttered a sharp crack of laughter, but stopped immediately and began gently to rub his temple.

  A slow smile grew on Bedivere's face. "At last," he said.

  "Ay, finally a real task," Sir Kai said. "For all the good it'll do us. You don't really think we can find a lad missing fifteen years, do you?"

  "I'd rather fail at an impossible task that's worth trying than succeed in every pointless chore under the sun," Bedivere replied. "Come on, Culloch. Let's go."

  Culloch wanted to begin by looking for Dillus the Bearded, so that he could make his leash, but the other three overruled him, and they went immediately to look for Modron the merchant to find out everything they could. His shop was not far from Isbaddadon's castle, and within an hour they were standing before the stout, black-bearded tradesman. He smiled ingratiatingly at them, "My lords! My lords! You do me great honor! Please come in! Woman! Fetch wine for our distinguished guests! You, boy! Bring out the brocade!"

  "We need no wine, friend," Bedivere said.

  "I'll have some," Culloch interjected. "Have you anything to eat with it?"

  "But of course, my lord. Please sit down." He looked angrily about until he spied a small, pudgy girl. "Girl! You! What are you doing just looking at us! Go fetch a chair for his worship! Four chairs!" Modron looked back at the knights, and his face beamed with benevolence and hospitality. "I can see that you have heard of my latest shipment of brocade, perfect for your ladies' gowns. Really, though, I am not sure that I intend to sell it. It was so costly, and I really meant it for my own dear wife. But since you have come so far—"

  "You are mistaken, sir," Bedivere replied gently. "We have not come to buy brocade."

  "Ah, but wait until you see it," the merchant added eagerly. "To see it is to want it, I assure you! Boy! Where's that worthless scrub! I said bring out the brocade!"

  The boy who had been sent for the cloth reappeared, struggling with a long bolt of shimmering material. He bumped against a table and a pottery tankard fell to the floor and cracked. The merchant exploded with oaths, and the boy—evidently acting on past experience—simply dropped the cloth on the floor and ran. The merchant screamed threats after him until Bedivere took him by the shoulder and physically turned him around.

  "Stop, sir, I beg you," Bedivere said sternly. "It was not the lad's fault. I told you, we are not here to buy cloth. Leave your servant alone."

  This stopped Modron. "Servant? My lord, I have no servants. I am a poor man. That was my son, worthless dunderhead though he is. But come, will you not look at the brocade?"

  "Your son?" Bedivere repeated, frowning. "Your second son, I take it?"

  "Nay, that one is fourth—or maybe fifth—of my sons, and each as ungrateful as the last."

  Bedivere frowned, but he pressed on. "Actually, it is regarding one of your sons that we have come. We were told that your eldest son, one Mabon, was stolen from you, and we are pledged to find him."

  "Oh, ay, the ungrateful wench!" the merchant said, scowling furiously.

  "Wench?" Sir Kai asked. "What wench?"

  "Nothing, nothing, your worship," the merchant replied hastily. "Yes, my oldest was stolen from me by witches or whatnot, when he was barely born. Probably dead by now."

  "Why would you say that?" asked Bedivere.

  "Sickly brat, like his mother, curse her."

  Bedivere's face grew even more severe, and he started to speak, but at that moment a pale stooped woman appeared, carrying four cups of wine. Culloch said, "At last!" and took the whole tray from her with one hand. Bedivere ignored the wine and asked through tight lips, "Could you tell us about the night he was taken? Do you know which direction the thieves went?"

  While the men talked, the woman who had brought the wine crept away to the other side of the store and got down by a bucket of water and began to scrub the floor. Pretending to look at the merchandise spread out on tables, Dinadan left the others and strolled over beside her. She glanced up once, furtively, and Dinadan saw to his surprise that she was not as old as he had thought. She could not have been much more than twenty-five years old, too young to have been the stolen baby's mother. But, thought Dinadan, the tradesman had just said he had no servants.

  "I beg your pardon, my lady," Dinadan said in a low voice. The woman looked up fearfully. "I am sorry to disturb you, but perhaps you could help me."

  The woman's eyes flickered toward the merchant, then returned to Dinadan. "Yes, your worship?" she whispered.

  Dinadan knelt beside her, behind a large barrel of flour. "We are here to look for that fellow's missing son Mabon. Are you ... are you Modron's daughter?"

  "His wife, your worship," the woman whispered. Dinadan stared at her, pity and puzzlement on his face. "His third wife," the woman explained. "His first two wives, God help them, are dead."

  Dinadan bit back a trenchant comment on the previous wives' good fortune and said only, "And the missing boy, Mabon?"

  "He was the first wife's. They say she died right after the boy was took."

  Dinadan caught the woman's inflection. "What do you mean, 'they say'? Do you doubt it?"

  The woman looked again at her husband, and her eyes were bright with hatred. "I never seen her grave, nor nobody hereabouts has. If she died like he said, where'd he lay her, then?"

  Dinadan was not sure what she was implying. "Do you think he killed her? Or that she ran away? Then by all the gods, why did you take her place? Why did you marry that creature?"

  The woman's face hardened, and she said very softly, "I was alone in the world. My parents were old and poor, and when they died I had nothing. I am not a pretty woman, and he is a rich man. How else was I to keep myself warm and fed? And now there are the children."

  "Your children? Those two little ones?"

  The woman nodded. "They're all he has left now. All his older children run off as soon as they was old enough, but does he think about that when he pulls out his belt to beat them? No." She returned to her scrubbing with fury, as if the floor were her enemy. Dinadan watched her for a moment, a se
nse of helpless anger filling his breast.

  "Will your husband beat the boy for breaking that cup?" he asked suddenly. The woman looked up, her eyes glinting with tears, and she nodded curtly. Dinadan reached into the pouch at his belt and drew out two golden coins. "I cannot change your husband, my lady. He is as he has made himself. But give these to your son and tell him that Sir Dinadan sends his regards."

  The woman's eyes widened, and she quickly secreted the coins in the folds of her dress. "Thank you, your worship," she said faintly. "And sir? I remember hearing that his first wife came from the east and had people there. Near Chester. Her name was Rhiannon, same as mine. You should look there."

  Dinadan nodded silently, rose, and walked back to where the others stood. Culloch was finishing off the third cup of wine while Bedivere and Sir Kai still talked with the merchant. For his part, Modron seemed to have realized that these knights were not going to buy anything, and he was growing each moment more recalcitrant. Dinadan stooped and picked up the cracked mug from the floor, where it still lay. "What do you want for this, my man?" he asked abruptly.

  "For that?" Modron asked, bewildered. "But it's—"

  Dinadan flipped a silver coin to him. "Is that enough?" The merchant nodded, for a moment speechless, and Dinadan turned to the others, "Come on. We're wasting time here." Then he turned on his heel and walked out, followed by the others. Culloch came last. Dinadan carefully put the cup in his pack, then pointed his horse east toward Chester.

  After a few minutes, Sir Kai rode up beside him. "You paid that worm twenty times what that cup was worth, even if it wasn't cracked," Sir Kai commented. It was not a question.

  Dinadan shrugged. "And for all that, it wasn't half what that little boy will pay."

  Sir Kai nodded. "Likely." He smiled suddenly. "And you thought that maybe since you paid for the cup, Modron wouldn't beat the boy so hard." Sir Kai chuckled.

  "Maybe." Dinadan changed the subject. "We're going to Chester, Sir Kai. That's where the boy Mabon's mother was from. Her name was Rhiannon. Maybe we can find someone there who can help us."